#I might sellout after all but

[disgustingtwitches]

MDNI

141 as your drug dealer boyfriend

Ghost- Let's be real with ourselves, Ghost is not a good man. He doesn't care who he hurts, as long as he gets his. He will do anything to get what he wants and there is no stopping him. It's what made him a great soldier, and it's what makes him a great kingpin. He moves weight to put it lightly. There isn't a moment where an uncut key is unmoving; from a warehouse, to a plane (or car, or train), to a distributor, to a pusher, to up someone's nose. He'll try to do some damage control, make sure things aren't cut with fent, but that's only to make sure customers keep coming back. He likes to keep his hands clean, in the sense that he'll never be the one to pull the trigger on anyone that's out of line. Living up to his name, no one knows what he looks like. Hell, a lot of people don't even think he's real.

But when it comes to you, Simon's a different man. No talk about work, just you and him. Other than the multiple hidden guns around the house and Glock he sleeps with, life is normal with you. Holiday homes in the French countryside and Bahamas. Designer everything. Sports cars in all your favorite colors. You want for nothing. It's the life he wanted for you. After all those years of crying and hurt when he was away for weeks or months, you deserved the world. Want the new Hermès bag? You got it. Can't choose between the black or white louboutins? Get both. Stop eating you out because you can't feel your toes anymore? Sorry love, only thing he can't do for you.

Soap- Johnny is a small business owner. Weighs everything out by his own hand. Presses his own pills. Let's you help baggie everything up. A social butterfly, this man is at every concert, rave, or music festival. Sometimes he has a friend help push his stuff when he just wants to stay home with you, but for the most part he's his own salesman. And a damn good one. Never has overstock. No matter how much he brings with him, he'll always sellout.

Has a supernatural sense of being shorted. Can tell if a bag is even a few grams off just by holding it.

"Ye'r an idiot if ye think ye kin short me."

And when the other party denies, he always keeps a pocket scale on him, setting the parcel on it. And sure enough, he's always right.

He'll come home with a few grand, the only job you have is to sit there and look pretty. And roll his spliffs. Sitting in his lap, tucking the rolling paper into itself and licking it closed while he counts out a fat wad of cash. He hands you a fat stack,

"A've never bin good wi' money. Ye know how to spend it better than me."

He never touches the stuff he sells, no need to when all the dopamine he needs is right between your legs.

"Ten times better than any o tha' shite, anyways."

He pants in your ear while folding you in half, firm grip on your throat.

Gaz- When it comes to psychedelics, Kyle is your go-to man. He's a fucking genius, synthesizes his own DMT and LSD in a lab. It's a state of the art facility, clean with the latest and greatest equipment available. He supplies the whole Northeast. If it's a hallucinogen, it's most likely Gaz's product. And if it's good, it's definitely his. He has a cozy set up with some "organization" that he cooks for. Steers clear of actually selling to people, no need to when his clients line his pockets so well. Never brings work home, he even wears different clothes when he's in the lab.

He has a set schedule he has to adhere to but sometimes he's able to take vacations with you. And that's how you ended up bent over a balcony watching the sunset in Punta Cana,

"I work so hard to make you happy, now it's my turn yeah?"

A breeze sends a shiver up your spine while he kisses your shoulder,

"I know a private beach where you can even out those tan lines,"

Of course he doesn't give a shit about that, he just wants to fuck you silly on the seaside (and show off to anyone who might be watching.)

Price- Caring and nurturing, the man naturally has a green thumb. And alongside his prized heirloom tomatoes, he grows really, really good weed. Has a whole growroom in his basement, decked out with proper ventilation, ACs, UV lights, the works. The man grows medical grade weed that private clinics buy from him. He's legit. And of course he serves the public as well under the table, sells only to people he knows and established clients can refer others to him. He treats his plants like his babies, even going as far as to play music for them (according to him classical music helps them grow better???). You don't know where he finds the time, but he also made you rose garden for your anniversary. He brings up the idea of a family every so often. He'll finish as deep inside of you as possible,

"Let's replace that plant nursery for a real one, yeah love?"

Gonna write actual stories for each one if y'all like this ( . * 3 * . )/`

[qqueenofhades]

I got political whiplash on Threads. First, everyone was screaming, “All is lost!” I came back an hour later, and everyone was screaming, “We Ride at Dawn!”

The right-wingers are in panic mode. Steven Miller was practically screaming on Feckless news. 🤣

I mean. The right-wingers' entire mentality, the fuel for the January 6 attempted coup, the recent SCOTUS President God-King Immunity ruling, and all the rest, is premised on the simple fact that the president is indeed, Almighty God King who serves for life and will never, ever willingly give up his power. So that's how I can guarantee that the GOP, because they are short-sighted fascist morons, did not plan for this. Their entire strategy was built around attacking Biden, because they hate him. Like, really hate him. He defeated Trump the first time and there was still a good chance that he could do it again. Trump got impeached the first time for trying to extort Zelenskyy for dirt on Biden, because he didn't want to face him. That's why they went after Hunter on largely bogus charges, tossed around the idea of impeaching Biden, actually (uselessly) impeached Mayorkas, etc.

And yet, because Biden (even if he was forced to do it) decided to step away and voluntarily give up his presidential power instead of wrecking American democracy to hold onto it, that has broken their little shriveled fascist brains. They literally can't comprehend it, and I can guarantee they're now shit scared about having to face Kamala, a brown woman, who is the epitome of everything their tiny evil brains hate. As noted by those bangin' fundraising numbers, there is also a lot of excitement around her. And suddenly, after MONTHS of "this election is a referendum on which old and mentally declining man you hate more," that has been removed as a factor. (Watch the media suddenly forget all about age and/or mental competency as a factor now that Biden is out. Does it apply to Trump, you ask? CRICKETS.)

Kamala is going to mop the f'n floor with Trump at the next presidential debate, and I guarantee that the GOP knows that too. Because yes, if Biden had another bad debate, or if he has a bad case of COVID that might end up giving him long-covid symptoms or keeping him off the trail for days or weeks, that would have been very, very hard to recover from. Now the GOP is the one stuck with an old, mentally baffled, virulently hated presidential candidate and the most pro-Russia, anti-woman, demonstrable-sellout whitebread VP pick imaginable, that they had to choose because Trump nearly got the last one killed and he wasn't interested in the job again, for some weird reason. And as we have pointed out before, this is the last-chance saloon for Trump in any number of ways, and he has been demonstrably overconfident the last few weeks as the media was consumed with discussion of Biden's stumbles rather than Trump's manifold unfitness, treason, felonies, and all the rest.

I don't agree with Biden on everything he has ever done in his long career in public service, but I will say that I don't think he would have actually done this if he wasn't eventually convinced, for whatever reason that might be, that it was the right decision. And my one big fear about him stepping down was that the party would instantly fracture, people would start flogging unrealistic Magical White Boy replacements, and otherwise insist on an "open mini-primary!" or some other fucking bullshit. Now, there are still a few idiots trying that, but by and large, the Democratic power apparatus has instantly thrown its weight behind Kamala. That doesn't excuse them for the weeks of wibbling Anonymous Sources self-sabotage beforehand, and I still vote that we destroy the billionaires at our next opportunity, but if we can stick with that and keep up those mongo fundraising numbers, we might indeed actually have a better chance than before, and that was what this was all about.

As I noted yesterday, Black women have been disproportionately influential in taking Trump down (think Leticia James, Fani Willis, etc) and there is undoubtedly a huge, HUGE amount of poetic justice if Kamala can be the one to stick the knife in his greasy orange gut once and for all. I can likewise guarantee the GOP is well aware of that, and the fact that while they can yell even louder and trot out the same old racist, sexist, misogynist fearmongering dirtbag attacks they used on HRC, that is a strategy with demonstrably diminishing returns (it sure as hell isn't going to help them win any more female or suburban or black voters or anyone else we always hear about how they're Making Inroads with). And we're not going to talk about how it's Obvious that America would never elect a black female president. Obama won two terms. Even with all that weight of frothing misogyny and DECADES of Republican smear machines, HRC won the popular vote and was ratfucked out of the Electoral College by the slimmest of margins, after a massive interference campaign by the Russians. It is fucking possible, we are going to do it, and the Republicans are so, SO FUCKING SCARED of having to live in an America run by a brown woman, that can only be for the good.

Kamala Harris 2024. Let's go.

[superstarz9]

So y’all fw some MORE Mr. Puzzles headcanons?

Cause I got some :]

Even though he streams his content, Mr. Puzzles hates streaming over normal television and believes it ruins the momentum. The only thing he appreciates about streaming is the lack of ads. No matter how bad the ratings are, Puzzlevision is an ad-free service!

To add, product placement is a no-go. Any products he might advertise on a show are all Puzzlevision branded, not that he’d advertise much. He’s a smart business man, which I’ll go in-depth with another time.

He’s all about authenticity with his actors an really hates big-time celebrities. Celebrities are snobbish and aren’t easy for Puzzles to handle. He also doesn’t want people to engage with his shows solely because of famous names. The day he hires a celebrity is the day he becomes a sellout, and the idea of selling out terrifies him.

Mr. Puzzles does an extensive background check of every single cast member he recruits. Not just because he’s trying to find the perfect actors, but because he’s trying to find people that wont be missed if they mysteriously disappear for long periods of time. After a cast’s likability begin to dwindle, Puzzles brings them back as if nothing happened. Previous cast members won’t remember their time at Puzzlevision and have a hazy memory for a bit before they adjust to normal. If they watch a show that they’ve been in, they’re so disconnected from the show that they won’t recognize themselves. However, Puzzles is careful to avoid reruns after switching casts.

He absolutely hates reality tv for multiple reasons. It’s the farthest thing from reality, everything is so fake, and the writing is HORRIBLE! If the audience demands it, he’ll make a reality tv show, but it would be one of the few things he wouldn’t mind not hitting 5 stars. The less creative impact he has on the show, the less he cares for it.

He prefers live-action over animation, but highly respects animated shows.

He likes movies but heavily prefers tv since television has always been frowned upon within Hollywood and the entertainment industry (It’s actually interesting to know the beef between movie studios and tv, I recommend checking it out. To put in into perspective, picture the Disney theatre movies vs the straight to video movies: there’s a huge difference and it’s somewhat obvious of the cash-grab tv movies/shows are. The purpose of tv has always been a quick cash grab, actually. Kinda like the first content farm, to an extent). Puzzles wants to prove that television is a respectable media outlet and shouldn’t be frowned upon within the industry.

He is familiar with almost any televised language. The only major issue is that, yes, he needs subtitles to completely understand. However, he can hold a relatively decent conversation in most languages, he’d just need a few refreshers.

Already talked about it last post but he likes to cook and really enjoys cooking/baking shows. Y’know that thing where you’re good at one but not as good at the other cause they’re so different (you cook to your liking vs following a strict recipe for the best dessert outcome)? I feel like Puzzles would be perfect at baking alone but any baking show he does goes to absolute shit. However, he’s not as great at cooking alone (since he can’t taste) but it much better with a sous-chef guiding him.

This was someone else’s hc (I don’t remember who’s, I’m srry), but they brought up that the order of shows Mr. Puzzles makes with the SMG4 crew reflect the shows he watched growing up (the kids-y shows, family disney-type movies, teen stuff like Scooby-doo, and gameshows). I’d like to add that he enjoys making gameshows the most because he can be the main character in every episode, and everyone’s reactions are the most genuine. The only thing I can see Puzzles not liking is the lack of creativity (similar to reality tv). However, it would be pretty fitting for a production company called Puzzlevision to make game shows.

This one’s gonna be a little bit more depressing. No matter how hard he tries or how good he thinks his writing is, Mr. Puzzles cannot write anything original. It’s the curse of seeing every piece of televised media to ever be produced. He tries his best to be original but as the puzzlevision arc continues, he gradually stops trying to be original, which is what ultimately causes him to lose. While Puzzles keeps trying to copy other successful media and failing, it’s the originality the SMG4 crew produce that gets them to 5 stars (and extremely quickly, too). Puzzles fails to realize that the shows he loves and tries to replicate were original, too, and that’s what got them to succeed in the first place. I feel like this success from SMG4’s originality is what sparked Mr. Puzzles’ envy in the first place.

To add to this, Puzzles has been canonically spying and interfering with the SMG4 crew for a while (selling them the showgrounds, the cursed keyboard in the ITS GOTTA BE PERFECT arc, the Western Spaghetti arc), and is almost a direct parallel to SMG4. They both was to succeed and produce original content, striving for perfection. The only major difference is that Mr. Puzzles has been alone for the majority of his life whereas SMG4 has his crew. Despite this, however, SMG4 still snaps and isolates himself similarly to how Puzzles takes complete creative control.

Not having a proper friend/support group is also what causes Puzzles to fail, isolating himself from the rest of the world. Even though we don’t see much of the studio, it’s still pretty run down and barren, implying that Puzzles doesn’t spend much time there, if at all. Puzzles spends most of his time in the shows, directing/acting/ect, and avoiding the real world where he doesn’t have control. When he’s in the real world and bored, he dissociates a lot, planning out his next big projects.

To add, he’s not a big fan of modern technology as a whole, and sticks to older tech (like the older computer model in the teaser between the scooby episode and the gameshow episode and his head being an older computer). Same goes for the studio. I can totally see him walking into the decrepit building with the real estate agent being like “this building hasn’t seen the light of day since 200 b.c,” and Mr. Puzzles ecstatically goes “I’ll TAKE IT!” He’d also do his own renovations and film it for an abandoned house-flipping series, scrapping it later because he sucks at renovating.

He can’t take constructive criticism if his life depended on it. He tries, but all he thinks is “well these people just don’t understand TRUE art in this world!”

He can play shows/movies in the back of his mind whenever, and often does if he’s not on set. Y’know that reddit/tumblr post about the kid who memorized Shrek so much that he could just watch it from memory and his dad would catch him at the 37:14 mark and be like “stop watching shrek and go to bed,”? Yeah, Puzzles is like that. Only difference is that he can’t pause it, only tune it out.

He’ll watch them, but found-family sit-coms depress him. Shows like Friends, It’s Always Sunny in Philly, etc remind him of what his life could’ve been if he could’ve made friends properly.

To add to this, y’know how he projects himself in his shows? What if he did that with shows like Friends, where he’s a part of the cast and laughing along. He’d do it in his sleep and not even realize it’s a dream until the episode ends and he wakes up alone. :,]

On a lighter note, older tvs release a light frequency that gets louder the older it gets. Mr. Puzzles probably hums a frequency without realizing it that people can only hear if they’re close and he isn’t babbling away. Older tvs also kinds adjust(?) where they slightly creek a lil. Mr. Puzzles probably does, to, and it’s the equivalent of him cracking his neck.

He’s also more prone to shock people slightly, depending on how manic he is. If he rubs his gloves together he’s practically a battery.

He has a daily care routine that involves him carefully wiping his screen with windex.

These ones are more show/content based. If these continue to do well I’ll post some more general and maybe relationship hcs :]. If you guys have any suggestions/questions/critiques please let me know!

[hbdttg]

Part 1 / tag list below the cut

“I’m quitting,” Eddie declares, “I’m out. Call me a tree, ‘cause I’m leaving. Call me a banana, ‘cause I’m splitting. T-t-t-t-that’s all, folks!” he adds, doing his best impression of Porky Pig’s signature stammering.

Chrissy’s laser focus doesn’t stray from her monitor, even when Eddie bodily throws himself into the chair across her desk with a long, strangled groan. Wordlessly, she raises her left index finger at him in a silencing gesture. With her brows furrowed in concentration, she drags her mouse around on its pad and double-clicks something on her screen before nodding decisively to herself. After another few clicks, she finally lowers her finger, raises her eyes, and meets Eddie’s gaze.

“Would you mind grabbing what I just printed? Please?” she asks, smiling at him imploringly.

Chrissy could ask Eddie to bleach his hair and shave off an eyebrow and he’d do it. She’s actually who he has to thank for landing such a cushy job with HHH—a referral from a trusted associate like her goes a long way in a place like this.

And despite Eddie’s many complaints about becoming a corporate sellout, he can’t deny that it certainly has its perks. The office is only a ten-minute commute from his apartment, the compensation agreement he signed amounted to more money than his last two jobs combined, his benefits package is frankly ridiculous, and he gets to work with one of his best friends in the world. Overall, not a bad gig.

Even so, he makes a show of sighing, loud and longsuffering, before doing as Chrissy asks, leaving her office to grab her job off the printer. Eddie knows she works in HR and some of her stuff can get pretty confidential, so he doesn’t even try to skim the contents of the page as he walks it back over to her.

“Here,” he says, thrusting the paper at Chrissy facedown.

“Thanks!” she says. She makes no moves to take it from him. “That’s for you, actually.”

Curious, Eddie takes the paper back and flips it over. In the center of the page is a graphic of safety sign one might find in a cartoon factory, though Chrissy had edited the original from “[___] Days Since Last Accident” to “[___] Days Since Eddie Last Threatened to Quit His Job”. There’s a big red zero in the counter box.

Eddie tries to glower down at Chrissy, but it’s sort of hard to maintain when she bursts into laughter. It’s been years, but the sound of Chrissy laughing like this, all bright and breathless and unrestrained, never fails to transport him back to his (third) senior year of high school, when they first became friends over a failed drug deal.

“Don’t be cute,” Eddie says with a laughable lack of authority, dropping heavily back down into the chair.

“Do you know who you’re talking to?” Chrissy counters, brow raised archly.

Eddie rolls his eyes, crumpling the page into a ball and lobbing it in between them.

Chrissy lets the ball land harmlessly on her desk before sweeping it into the trashcan by her feet.  “Just so you know, I’ve had that saved on my desktop since Monday—and I haven’t had to edit the days count a single time.”

Eddie scoffs, but it’s hard to defend himself when this current visit marks the fifth day in a row he’s floundered into her office, vainly announcing his resignation. “Yeah, well,” he says weakly, “printing it seems like a gross misuse of company resources.”

“What are you going to do, report me?” Chrissy says with a mischievous sparkle in her eyes.

“Let me guess: you’re the one who receives those reports?” Eddie says dryly.

“Yep!” she says cheerfully. “Now, go on and tell me about your latest trainwreck of an interaction with Steve Harrington.”

“Christ, Chris!” Eddie hisses, leaping to his feet and immediately spinning around to check if anyone was around to hear her damning words. The coast is clear, luckily, but he still scrambles to shut her office door before falling back into his chair. “You can’t just go around saying his name all willy-nilly.”

“He’s not gonna suddenly appear if you say his name three times, Eddie. See, watch. Steve. Steve. St—”

“Don’t risk it!” Eddie squawks loudly, cutting her off.

“You’re an absolute mess,” she says through a laugh, shaking her head at him.

And well, Chrissy’s not wrong.

Eddie’s been a mess since Monday morning, when he unknowingly produced, directed, and starred in The Roast of Steve Harrington. He blames his shitty memory for forgetting what floor his new office was on—if he’d known he was sharing the elevator with someone he could have potentially worked with (let alone someone whose surname made up a third of the company name), he wouldn’t have opened his big, fat mouth in the first place.

When he finally gathered the courage to make it back down to the fifty-second floor and show his face at the HHH office, he kicked off his onboarding with Chrissy with a strangled, “I know it’s my first day and I technically just started ten minutes ago, but I quit. Thank you for the opportunity and good-bye forever.”

Chrissy, the traitor, spent a full five minutes laughing in his face over his shamefully recounted story before patting him twice on the head and informing him he wasn’t allowed to quit for at least six months. The overly saccharine tone of her voice alone told Eddie there was no room for argument there.

Still, that didn’t stop him from following her into her office after the all-hands meeting on Tuesday, all the while whining in her ear, “I can’t thrive in these conditions, Chrissy. Please, I beg of you—accept my sincere and humble resignation from this cursed hellscape.”

‘These conditions’ consisted of any rooms and/or conversations that contained Steve Harrington. Eddie hadn’t been expecting to see the guy doting over the catering when he walked into the conference room that afternoon, and he certainly wasn’t expecting his supervisor and trainer, Murray, to lead him over to Steve to introduce the two of them (though that was likely just an excuse to head straight for the sandwiches that were laid out for the meeting).

While Eddie choked on his own tongue trying to spit out some generic, inoffensive greeting, Steve merely watched him with an amused smirk before thrusting his hand out and offering a perfectly friendly “It’s nice to meet you, Eddie, I’m Steve”, as if Eddie didn’t have Steve’s name and face (and stupidly fit body—who the fuck looks that good in a pair of khakis?!) burnt into his memory from the day prior.

Afterward, Murray, who most assuredly did not have a filter of any kind, bluntly commented on Eddie’s awkwardness, then spent the next five minutes trying to determine if it was normal, strangers-meeting-for-the-first time awkwardness, or something more sensational. Eddie stubbornly kept his mouth shut until the meeting started.

Wednesday followed a similar pattern, with Eddie flouncing into Chrissy’s office with a dramatic “I choose to break my blood oath. At this point I’d welcome the sweet release of death if it meant I didn’t have to work here anymore.”

Chrissy just corrected him, patiently explaining that he was employed at-will, rather than by blood oath, and that if he left before his sixth month, she’d personally skin him alive. Eddie had to pause and weigh the pros and cons of being skinless. Surely it couldn’t be worse than his latest exchange with Steve—via email this time, mercifully.

He’d just learned how to field helpdesk tickets and received one from Steve Harrington himself. It was a simple enough software request ticket, so he assigned it to himself and replied with next steps, asking Steve for a code so he could remote into his computer and install the program.

Steve replied back, asking where he was supposed to find the code. It was an innocuous enough question, but then Eddie noticed something a little off about his email signature: his last name was bolded.

Eddie ignored it, assuming it was a stylistic choice—nothing to read into, surely—but then Steve sent another email shortly after to let him know to disregard his last email; he’d found the right app and was just waiting for it to generate a code. This time, Harrington was bolded and at least two sizes bigger than his first name.

Then, in Steve’s third email, sent not a minute later with the requested code, Harrington was bolded, two sizes bigger than his first name, and highlighted yellow—a tactic Chrissy found so hilarious that she had to shoo Eddie out of her office with tears in her eyes so that she could compose herself and actually get some work done.

Thursday was a blessed reprieve from Steve’s unique brand of psychological warfare, but Eddie still somehow managed to royally humiliate himself in front of him. After he slunk into her office and silently pushed a scribbled-on napkin across her desk—

Please accept this letter as my formal resignation from my position as Systems Analyst II at HHH, effective immediately. Effective yesterday. In fact, I’ll pay you back the entirety of my wages earned if we just forget I ever worked here.

—Chrissy tutted at him sympathetically before taking the napkin and reaching over to dab it at the large wet stain on his shirt.

He’d been walking back to his desk from the breakroom when he rounded a corner and bumped into Steve in the hallway. Literally bumped into, bodily contact and surprised yelps and everything. And it probably wouldn’t have been such a big deal, really, if not for the fact that he had a newly refilled mug of coffee in his hand.

“Eddie, oh my god, are you okay?”

No, Eddie wasn’t okay, because he just splashed himself with hot fucking coffee and now Steve Harrington was worriedly fussing over him and tentatively trying to mop up the liquid with his own fucking hands for some reason, and he was embarrassed (and a little turned on?) and he had to get the fuck out of there now.

“I’m okay, sorry, it’s fine—” he managed to squeak before whirling around and scurrying to the bathroom.

So yes, Eddie’s been an absolute mess the past few days, and today is no different.

…Actually, scratch that. Today is different. Today is worse.

“Okay, now spill,” Chrissy says. “What happened?”

With another drawn-out, pitiful groan, Eddie sinks down in his seat and lets his neck hang off the backrest, blinking up at the ceiling.

“Talk to me, Eds,” Chrissy says, concern starting to bleed into her voice. “If he’s actually bullying you, you can file a complaint. I have a form here somewhere.”

Eddie hears her open one of her desk drawers and reluctantly sits up. “He’s not bullying me, Mom,” he says with a huff. “We actually…we talked.”

“You talked?” Chrissy asks, eyebrows raised.

“Yeah, about the elevator. Buried the hatchet and everything. I said sorry, we laughed about it, it’s over and done with.” Eddie’s gaze darts around Chrissy’s desk, searching for something to distract him from the warm and fuzzy feeling growing in his stomach at the memory of their conversation.

“That’s great, I’m so proud of you!” Chrissy says cheerfully. “But wait, if you two are good now…”

Eddie doesn’t want her to ask what she’s about to ask, because the answer might be more embarrassing than all of his other Steve stories combined.

“Why are you still going on about quitting?”

Eddie drops his face into his hands, feeling totally and utterly pathetic. “Um, because I think I’m sort of, kind of, just a little bit…in love with him?”

-------------------------------------

tbh I didn’t think I’d be writing a second part, but if strangers on the internet validate me enough, I guess I’ll do anything~

Y’ALL. I’m blown away by the response to part one of this silly lil au. I didn’t reply to any of the lovely comments or tags, but please know if you engaged in any way (or even if you just read the fic and snorted a little through your nose at a bit you found funny) I love you with my entire heart and you’ve made my entire life.

[Now for the tag list, which I’ve never done before. Sorry if you didn’t actually want to be on here! Or, sorry if you’re stumbling upon this post on your own after asking to be tagged and I missed you oops.]

@messrs-weasley @n0-1-important @bornonthesavage @thing-a-ling @eddiemunsonswife @changenamelater @ispyblu @thesuninyaface

@invisibleflame812 @4nemo1egend @ikolanatari @mavernanche @songbird-garden @trashpocket @original-cypher @over7joyed 

@commonxsenss @justdyingontheinside @mojowitchcraft @maya-custodios-dionach @justmiiriam @imzadidragonfly @lillemilly @gay-stranger-things @child-of-cthulhu @bleedingoptimism @lemanzanabizarra @melaniehere91

@iswearitsjustme @silver-snaffles @csinnamon-fox @paint-music-with-me @epicsteddieficrecs @sweetcreaturetm @hxneyfarms @bossyknow-it-all @vecnuthy @stevethehairington @anything-thats-rock-and-roll @nburkhardt

@gayngerthings @patchworkgargoyle @violetsteve @henderdads @2btheanswertothequestion

[cherlockgomes]

Uncle Rick: Beloved Children's Author Turned Capitalist Sellout

TW: Controversial opinion.

Discussing the show and the new Percy Jackson novel.

Welcome to my rant about the way the PJO universe is going. First of all- the show. Yes, a lot of people (not excluding me) were upset about the casting. I loved the picture I had in my head of Annabeth and Percy, Luke and Grover, etc. However, the arguments made on behalf of the casting- how they look isn't crucial to their story like how Hazel's might be, and how Rick Riordan assured us they were perfect for their roles because they fully embody them, made sense. I realized I was still wrapped up in the 5th-grade mindset that was clinging to the concept of a character that had nothing to do with their essence. Thus, I was convinced to approach the show with an open mind.

After watching all the interviews leading up to the show, I was convinced. These three fully embodied their characters. I could see Percy in Walker's sarcastic wit, Annabeth in Leah's demeanour, and Grover in Aryan's chemistry. My inner child was excited for a book to screen redemption of one of my favourite series.

It had the premise for a great show—a good cast, the author working closely, and what seemed to be a good set design. How miserably it failed. It was so...soulless. There's no other way to put it. It lacked depth and the magic that made the books so special. They rushed through the scenes, not giving the actors enough time to shine. I'd describe it as spreading their light too thin, making everything flat and one-dimensional.

Take the scene where Percy gets claimed, for example. In the books, it was this paramount moment where the entire camp, including people like Clarrise, were forced to bow down to him- showcasing how powerful he was. Even a person like Annabeth, who was supposed to hate any of Poseidon's descendants because of their parental fued had to bow, showing how the Olympian hierarchy forced you to show your respect. It was the moment Luke saw Percy's potential.

Now, in the show, this moment seemed to be brushed past. Yes, it was there, but as I mentioned, it lacked depth. Walker looked tiny when he was meant to tower over them.

This brings me to my other point. Recently, Riordan released a book called Percy Jackson and The Chalice of Gods. It was meant to show Percy, Annabeth and Grover as college students and their lives after the battle. But, like the show, it lacked that magic. Moreover, it felt like the characters were merely half-baked. Yes, their original characteristics were there, but it felt like they hadn't grown. They were meant to be in college, but it felt like they were just entering high school. Certain places felt redundant and average.

I couldn't help but feel disappointed by the show. What was meant to be a redemption felt like a broken promise. Conversely, the book felt like a cash grab playing on our nostalgia, disguised by a fun quest with the original three. It's only a step up from what Disney accomplishes with their live-action remakes. Not to mention, it feels very JK Rowling-coded.

Not cool.

[theadhddimsenion]

Some theories and predictions on m&m going forward.

I do believe that for whatever reason or reasons whether it be one or both of them worrying about being a parent and what that will me for them and their relationship, millie being unsure of whether or not wants to keep it, millies fears of her husband not liking whatever decision she makes, the dangers that the child could be in due to their line of work and how their grandfather would be *cough* crimson *cough*. Or something else the baby will be the cause of m&m first major multi episode conflict. I know not everyone is going to appreciate m&m not being the perfect couple for even a three episode mini arc but just here me out on this. They m&m couple are newlyweds and they haven't really been through the real muck of a relationship that happens but can you tell me who both of them might know who has plenty of experience with relationship troubles? If you guessed blitz buckso you get a gold star 🌟!! This would be a great way to show how much blitz has changed and actually have his many failed relationships actually work out in his favor because if stolitz can have a healthy relationship after everything they been through then a couple as lovely dovey as m&m are going to be just fine.

Millies pregnancy and her love of her job is going to conflict. She definitely loves being an assassin the most out of all of them but if she has to be a mother than she has to give up that part of her life that she loves. Maybe they could even add some more drama with blitzs descion to turn the company into a body guard service which only stolas and moxxie like. Perhaps between millies growing anxieties about being replaced and forced into a role she doesn't like she sneaks out to go on a mission of her own only to find that it's a trap set by a vengeful Ronaldo (and blind because his eyes melted) and Ronaldo Is all "well, well, well not so tough now are you hick!? What's the matter I thought my words didn't mean shit to you!?! AHHAHAHAHHAHAHAHA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" but he is for good by blitz and a band if real ghosts he fucked. At the end of the episode blitz immediately knows something is wrong when millie doesn't respond to his teasing about her being wrong about ghosts and in a sence mirroring ghost fuckers ending the rest of the team all give her reassurance that they will always need her and the big part is when moxxie tells her he will always love her regardless of whether or not she wanted a family.

Another potential sencario is that like before millie is out on a mission that turns out to be a trap. But rather than by Ronaldo both millie and loona are defeated and captured by crimson due to millies pregnancy throwing her off her game and loonas lack of experience in the field. Crimson who has hired striker once again but this time is giving the cowimp a lot more snark than before due to him being a blatant sellout and kinda useless and the only reason he hired him was because blitz and his crew where the ones they were fighting so he couldn't exactly get them on his payroll.

Crim uses both loona and millie as both bait and a barging chip mentioning millies child in his ransom tape and telling both blitz and moxxie that they could either surrender themselves to be killed or their loved ones die. At first everything is going in crimsons favor seemingly like moxxie has fully surrendered but that's when blitz comes out of nowhere and springs the plan moxxie had come up with (note this will be another big moment between blitz and moxxie as for the first time blitz let's the little possum make the plan noting that he is generally the better strategist when he pulls his head out of his frequently pegged ass). This shows that moxxie is a far better imp than his farther ever was because despite moxxies reputation as a coward and a weakling he has proven he is far more capable than most people give him credit for and what has his father done? When's the last time crimson ever did any of his dirty work himself? You all saw the way he cowered when millie slaughtered his thugs. I am willing to bet money that despite what he claims crimson is a pathetic coward who would surrender the moment he had no one else to do his dirty work for him, moxxie may not be the most outright strong or forward of demons but he was never the type to force others to do what he couldn't and crimson doesn't exactly look like he was made for any kind of direct combat, the only person he could physically overcome was his own son from a young age and I bet that he couldn't even take his own wife had she given him a serious fight. All this is to say that this is moxxies biggest moment to shine as both a charater and a fighter he ends up finshing crimson off by drowning him in the same like his mother drowned in and he gets to be the one to save his wife this time around and he gets to do by playing to his strengths rather than trying to be something he isn't.

And as a bonus my man blitz gets so badass charater development as well getting to save his daughter and bond with moxxie. Another thing I like about this idea is that it shows that the girls aren't mentally and physically invincible. What I mean by that is that so far we have only seen millie fail a few times and we haven't seen loona fail once and it wouldn't seem fair to me if they kept the girls as the perfect warriors and therapists for the entire series when they clearly aren't. Bltiz, moxxie and stolas have been shown as the flawed and often failing people they are many times and I feel that having millie and loona go through similar treatment is only fair. Actually that gives me another idea as to give moxxie and loona some more character development in this theoretical episode. Having loona be captured doesn't just show she isn't invincible and gives blitz to go full Papa wolf for her but it also gives a way for moxxie and loona to bond. Loona failing her first official mission would and being saved by "fatty" would be the perfect opportunity for moxxie to rub it in her face and get her back for all the shit she gave him but moxxie gets to be mature and simply helps her up telling her that he wasn't going to give her shit for failing cause that's not what friends do. With this loona and moxxie finally get to bury the hatchet and really ties up moxxies story nicely.

[amber-lucca44]

Couldn't sleep and was bored, and kinda hate Drake so um

Drake's biggest fuckups I've caught on this beef

He loves trying to diss Kendrick for his height. Yk like a toddler would.

He tries to say Kendrick's Mr. Morale & The Big Steppers was a bad album. If we're talking critical reviews, it had a Metacritic rating of 85/100, compared to Drake's highest ever rating of 79/100 for Nothing Was The Same. In fact, Kendrick's lowest Metacritic score so far has been 80/100 for Section.80, again over Drake's highest.

...and if we're talking sales or streams, well first, no one ever challenged Drake's sales compared to Kendrick. I think we all know Drake is pretty much unmatched when it comes to that. Second, if sales were a factor to determine quality of music, then holy shit "Despacito" must be an all time magnum opus like nothing anyone ever heard before lol.

Trying to call Kendrick a sellout for doing songs with Maroon 5 and Taylor Swift? Drake calling someone else a sellout? 🤡🤡🤡

The line where he said Kendrick isn't on the big three because SZA, Travis Scott and 21 Savage "got him wiped down". Okay, first, I'm pretty sure this guy thinks big three means just "the three best selling" and uhhh no not quite. And second, and most obvious, SZA? SZA isn't even a rapper, why are you trying to bring her into this? 🙄

The AI to imitate 2Pac's and Snoop's voices. A few points here. First of all, the fucking disrespect to 2Pac, what the fuck. Glad Pac's family threatened him to remove it. Second, Snoop Dogg is alive. You just used his AI voice cause you know damn well he wouldn't be caught dead doing a verse on a Kendrick diss for you. And as a third point, it's just funny you felt like you had to use AI to make a diss track. Ghostwriters weren't enough for this one ig lol.

"Taylor Made Freestyle" was all just him begging on his hands and knees for Kendrick to reply something and give him some attention. Drake took almost a month replying to Kendrick's verse on "Like That". And he's begging for a response to "Push Ups" like a week after it was leaked (and the same day it was even officially released in the first place)

He tried to say the things Kendrick would diss him with. He was mostly right but oh boy did Kendrick do so much more.

Is he a Swiftie too? Cause he wouldn't let her go for "Taylor Made". In his mind, he swears Kendrick wasn't dropping a diss cause he didn't want to interrupt Taylor Swift's album's success, which is just a funny and dumb conclusion to make.

Spends the end of that track just talking, trying to praise Taylor for "managing Kendrick's schedule". 🤡

Drake beginning "Family Matters" with an n word and then going "yeah I said it I know that you mad" really came off sounding like when 12 year olds play online and say the word to seem tough. 😂

"Always rapping like you trying to get the slaves freed". Dang so making songs that actually have substance and meaning means you wanna free slaves, okay.

About these next lines...

Kendrick said he hated the girls you fuck referring to your dumbass being a pedo and hated you trying to hook up with underage girls. Not at any point did he say anything about their color tf.

"I've been with black and white and everything that's in between" okay so all underage girls okay got it. Again that was never the point. 😐

"You the black messiah wifin' up a mixed queen" Drake seriously missed the whole entire fucking point. Kendrick never said he didn't like you for hooking up with white women, what the fuck. And again the messiah thing is just funny.

He mentioned Whitney on "Push Ups", and some gave him the benefit of the doubt thinking he might have just done some wordplay about Whitney Houston being called the same as Kendrick's wife, wasn't clear enough. But these lyrics here are what made it abundantly clear he did want to try to mess with his family. I'm sorry but at this point that's not a rap beef, you intentionally tried to make it personal. Maybe you knew you never had a chance so you thought going there would make it possible to win? As if you didn't have a horrible fucking record already.

"Why you never hold your son and tell him 'say cheese'?" Maybe he doesn't want to expose him too much to the public while he raises him, decent human beings would understand that.

"We could've left the kids out of this, don't blame me" Kendrick said you don't know shit about raising a child based on information that was already abundantly public (see "The Story Of Addidon") and also based on the fact that you, despite having that child, love playing tough on IG and dropping disses using AI begging Kendrick to reply. Trying to get Kendrick's children involved is totally on you, buddy. Kendrick wasn't the one dealing with being exposed with having a child no one knew about and you wouldn't acknowledge.

He loves baselessly claiming that one of Kendrick's children isn't his. Again, baselessly, so literally just gossip lol.

And speaking of baseless stuff, he's really keeps running on his claim that Kendrick has beaten his wife. THERE IS NO EVIDENCE OF THIS. Like at all. In his mind, he probably thinks that since his easily provable bullshit was exposed, he'll try to invent some bs on Kendrick too to make it seem like they're both horrible people. The only piece of shit we know of in this beef is you, Drake.

Not at Kendrick but in a diss aimed at The Weeknd, Drake had to pull out his homophobic card. Disgusting. Fuck, it's so easy to dislike this guy. 🙄

Saying that Kendrick's music only "hitting hard" when Baby Keem writes on it. Is it cause he has writing credits on "N95"? He does ad libs on the song so I'm pretty sure that's why he's listed. Are the ad libs that fire? Lol

"Kendrick just opened his mouth, somebody go hand him a Grammy right now" awww he jealous bout Kendrick's Grammy's lol 🥺

He brought up Kendrick's transgender uncle, and was transphobic to try to diss Kendrick. Just plain ignorant and disgusting as hell. But of course he did. 😑🙄

Tried to blame Kendrick for 2Pac's family threatening legal action for his "Taylor Made Freestyle". Bro what you did was plain disrespectful and it was just bound to happen.

Did he really try to brag about the video leaked of him masturbating? 🤡🤡🤡

And this nonsense right here, was it cause he visited Ghana or something? He's trying to pin Kendrick as a racist? Huh?

...and follows this up with an ignorant, racist, weird ass comment dissing Michael Jackson too for no reason whatsoever. 🤡

Talking to the mirror here lol

Naming his diss track "The Heart part 6" was almost clever. Except for the fact that yk the song is fucking trash.

The first line on this song calls Kendrick "the Pulitzer Prize winner". Yeah pointing out an accolade as amazing as that one at the beginning of a diss towards him will definitely do it. 😀

Having a comment by Dave Free as the cover for the single. Is this his evidence for a kid being his? 😂

Saying you "plotted to give Kendrick information" doesn't even help you much when it's all easily believable based on your background lol.

Denying the child Kendrick is exposing him to have, again, doesn't help your case at all after Adonis.

Goes back to saying Kendrick beat his wife and one of his children is not his, again with no evidence or hint whatsoever, only to go and say he's all about "facts". 🤡

Okay so, be careful everyone, don't leave heart emojis to any child or baby post ever, cause Drake is going to think you're the father.

Why is he even bringing up Kendrick's confessions on "Mother I Sober"? How is bringing up a traumatic potential sexual abuse incident a good way to dodge your own sexual abuse allegations? And that's not even exactly what Kendrick said on the fucking song! It's just disgusting.

And then tries to ridicule Kendrick for being a victim of this. What the fuck is wrong with this mf.

Okay and this one is just cringe. He tried to spin Kendrick's jab on "Not Like Us". B sharp isn't even a thing btw. 😂😂🤡

"I'd never look twice at no teenager" there is literally video of you kissing a teenager on stage, for starters. So you just look at them once before you creep on them how does that work

"Only fucking with Whitney" ah yes the old "I'll fuck your bitch" trope very clever and original Drake

Drake believing some bullshit he saw around about Kendrick using bots to boost his view count is just hilarious. He really thinks Kenny sat down and took some time to actually do that. 😂😂

He thinks people will cancel Kendrick over his baseless battery accusations. 🤡

He ends it with another minute rant like the one he did on "Taylor Made", and starts by saying the beef was "some good exercise". Ngl it is the first time I hear Drake rap at all in a while. So yeah gotta thank Kendrick for getting Drake to actually TRY to do some good music at all. (It's not even good but yk better than whatever trash he was doing before the beef)

"Just let me know when we getting to the facts, everything in my shit is facts" *doubles down on baseless claims of battery and one of Kendrick's children not being his*

[armysantiny]

A Cup of Spiced Tea – JWY

P: Jung Wooyoung x male reader | G: one-shot, fluff, angst | Inc: columnist!Wooyoung, coffee shop owner!reader, born vampire!reader, eventual turned vampire!Wooyoung, turned vampire!Yeosang, mentioned Lee Know, mentioned Changbin, mentioned Yeonjun, mentioned Yoongi, mentioned Hoseok, set in suburban town, again sorta based on the town I live in, Wooyoung overthinks a lot, y/n has a fledgeling (oc character), Wooyoung suspecting his best friend is a vampire, fostering-esque dynamics, slow-blooming attraction between Wooyoung and y/n, Wooyoung is attacked, bite scenes, casual and graphic depictions of blood | Wc: 10.5k

W: assault from feral vampire, blood loss, graphic depictions of blood and vampire bite, falling unconscious from blood loss, leg injury (from Yeonjun), anymore please lmk! | R: 15

Summary: Wooyoung can’t do this anymore, can’t keep working otherwise he might just start losing his mind. Thankfully, his boss isn’t a cruel oligarch, so he’s off for a six-month long career break, tasked with nothing but one request; to re-find his inspiration and return to work afterwards with fresh eyes. Luckily enough, finding inspiration is easy; tea and coffee shop A Bite for Tea has all of that in heaps and bounds, the only hard part is trying to ignore all the oddities surrounding the place. And about the people around him, now that he isn’t buried neck deep in work anymore.

Min's notes: I know it's past Christmas, but! Here's my secret santa fic, @nebulousbrainsoup! I enjoyed every moment writing this fic, lux, and I really hope you enjoy reading this as well. I will admit, having you give me advice for this fic all the while knowing I was writing this for you was incredible lmao, I kept wondering if you could somehow tell. Again, hope you enjoy this, I can't wait to start planning out and writing part two to this. This is by far the longest thing I have ever written ^-^

Part 2 (coming soon)

“…and what I’m really trying to say is that I need a break. A long one, I think.” Wooyoung’s chest heaves as he gets the last word out, fists clenched tightly in his lap. So tight in fact that he’s digging his nails into his palms, pain blooming underneath that he’s hardly registering. Sitting here like this, in Editor Lee’s office awaiting a verdict like he’s on trial is beyond daunting, and it’s doing his racing heart no favours at all. His ears are ringing too. And despite the fact Wooyoung knows for certain that his boss is watching him, the name plaque on the desk looks leagues more interesting than the prospect of meeting the older man’s gaze.

At least if his request gets denied and discarded much like his last failed submission, Wooyoung won’t have to look into the eyes of MayFly Arts’ Chief Editor, Lee Minho.

God, he can hear it now already, can’t he? Editor Lee’s tongue clicking in disappointment before the bombshell is dropped on him and Wooyoung will be left to pick up the pieces of his career from the bottom of his broken heart. He’ll have to find a new job. Go through interview after interview. Promote himself like some cheap sellout artist. Rework his resume over and over again. All the hassle he hasn’t had to do in the last five years because there is no way he's walking out of this office with his job still intact—

“Jung Wooyoung-ssi?” Is what breaks Wooyoung out of his spiral, the unusually calm voice of Editor Lee gently taking hold of his attention. The older man has never looked at him so…warmly before, as far as he remembers, that it makes Wooyoung shrink back even further into his seat. He’s sure he looks like some sort of frightened prey animal, now that he thinks about it. “What do you think I’m going to say?”

A trick question. It has to be.

“Uhh…that I should get back to work?” Wooyoung all but squeaks out, somehow maintaining eye contact. Yet that also happens to be the wrong answer…? Seriously, how is he getting this all wrong? He’s the highest rated columnist in their department, figuring this out should be child’s play.

Editor Lee’s face falls, expression morphing into what the columnist can only describe as concern. Can’t be concern for himself, surely, his recent performance has been plummeting faster than those dumb cars-dropping-in-different-gravity videos Changbin shows him during their lunch breaks. Watching in abject horror as his boss gets up out of his chair and walks on over to sit in the chair beside him, Wooyoung has absolutely no frame of reference for his reaction to the next ten words that come out of the Chief Editor’s mouth.

“I’ll grant you your career break, Wooyoung. You deserve it.”

Oh. Well then.

Just like that. Just like that, the rope of tension and fear and potential unemployment are cut and Wooyoung’s shoulders all but slump in relief. He’d cry if he hadn’t already spent a good ten minutes in bathroom before this unleashing the flood gates of tears he was keeping at bay. Instead, he blinks, entirely astonished all the while he thinks he’s breaking out into a smile. Maybe. Hopefully. Honestly it’s been so long since he’s genuinely smiled the action itself feels odd.

“Thank you, sir, really, I appreciate this more than you could—”

“There is one thing I’m going to ask of you though,” Editor Lee begins, and frankly, at this point there’s nothing Wooyoung won’t do for this man after the generosity he’s been bestowed. “And it’s to return to work with fresh eyes and some real inspiration. We both know you’ve been less than happy with your work—as good as it is regardless—so you’re going to go home after work today, rest, and I’m not going to hear a word from you until after those six months are up. Sound good to you?”

“That sounds good. Really good.”

And it still sounds good as Wooyoung punches in the code to his apartment and steps inside, kicking his shoes to the side and dropping his things on the closest surface before making a beeline for his sofa and unceremoniously plopping down on it. It’s almost surreal, now that he’s sitting here at home, thinking about the weight that’s been lifted off of his chest. His first major time off work in god knows how long—five years, three months and ten days, not that anyone’s counting—and Wooyoung almost can’t believe it. Almost. There’s so much he wants to do with the time off he has, the only problem now is figuring out what to do first, staring into the void of his unlit TV screen with only his reflection staring back at him.

What to do…what to do…

He could call someone. The last time he managed to find time to hang out with Yeosang was a few weeks ago, and the other man should be finishing his shift right about now…

It’s the sound of coffee machines and distant background chatter that greets Wooyoung as soon as his lifelong friend answers the video call, Yeosang balancing his phone off of something or other as he unties his apron. In the few seconds of silence between the two of them, Wooyoung unabashedly allows his eyes to linger on his friend’s physique, a low whistle slipping past his lips. Not like he can be blamed, right? Sue him for having pretty best friends.

“Are you done ogling me now?” Yeosang deadpans from the other side of the phone, the other man’s device clearly in his hands as he watches Wooyoung nod like a satisfied cat. But it’s all clearly just fine when Yeosang continues, “My shift’s over, I’m almost done grabbing all of my stuff, how are you? Everything alright?”

“Oh, it’s more than alright over here; I have news~” Wooyoung starts, sitting up in preparation for his big reveal. As the columnist’s longest friend, Yeosang’s been his biggest ever supporter in operation Take a Goddamn Break. “I am happy to report that I have done it!”

“Done it..?”

Wooyoung nods. Again.

“Done…” a few seconds of confused Yeosang mutterings later, realisation strikes the other man like a freight train. “Your career break?! Your boss allowed you to take a break?”

Wooyoung almost wants to cry with relief, grinning through incredulous laughter as Yeosang almost appears to pack his things together at record speed. His heart feels warm, overjoyed that Yeosang is just as happy as he is. He chats with Yeosang for a little while longer, listening to other man recount his day as well, hanging onto every word with enthusiasm.

“Hey, how do you feel about a celebration?” Yeosang blurts out, his eyes looking at something past the screen that Wooyoung can’t quite make out. “A successful operation calls for one…and the guys at work really recommend this one takeout place I’m looking at right now.”

…Fuck it, why not?

Decked out in casual clothes, a spread of fried chicken and cans of beer between them, Wooyoung cuddles right up against Yeosang as he reaches for another chicken drumstick, nearly cackling at the drama on screen alongside his friend’s half-stumped half-frustrated commentary on the plot. In all honesty, Wooyoung can’t even remember the name of whatever it is that they’re watching, having far too much fun acting like the pair of them are naïve university students again staying up late before a nine am lecture and not the busy—and overworked, one would argue—working adults that they are. And it’s no crime, returning to the bliss of their younger years, if just for the night.

So, he indulges himself in another piece of fried chicken, graciously moving to the side so Yeosang can get up and grab an extra can from the fridge. A can of what, he doesn’t recall, and neither does he recall Yeosang ever looking so…buff before. Has he been working out? And how didn’t he notice when he was using the other man like a glorified body pillow?

“I’m going to start charging you, you know that?” There’s a cold press on Wooyoung’s forehead. Looking up from the Yeosang-shaped wall of muscle to the man himself with a sheepish smile, and with a much closer view of the barista than before, the smile morphs into something more curious. Searching.

“Mhm,” is the columnist’s non-committal response, squinting his eyes to get a closer look. Yeah, no, surely there’s something different. “Sang-ah, I should’ve asked, but when did all of this happen? Swear the last time I saw you, there was considerably less muscle. I mean— not that I’m complaining!”

Yeosang clears his throat, rubbing the back of his neck as he goes to sit down, ever the bashful man about his own appearance. It’s almost too easy to make him flustered, and Wooyoung wants to take advantage of that fact, but he’s feeling merciful tonight. And the subject of his questioning has provided him with an offering. Another can of beer. Sweet.

“So~?”

“Alright, alright,” Yeosang concedes, “I started going to the gym with some of the hyungs from work, and they helped me stick to my old workout plan. It’s really helped…clearly.”

“What about the looking like you haven’t seen the sun in three months?” Wooyoung asks, leaning in close. In turn, Yeosang also leans back, deftly opening his can with the free hand not currently holding the columnist a normal distance away from his face.

“I’ve been streaming more now; it’s properly taken off and everything. So…I haven’t really been outside much lately. That a good enough answer, Mr Journalist?”

“I am a columnist thank you very much!” And yes, of course it is, Wooyoung doesn’t say.

“Eh, same thing.”

A weekend later and with the beginning of his career break well underway, there’s nothing much for Wooyoung to do at the impeccable time of five in the morning. And there’s no hope of getting back to sleep. His body clock is far too adjusted for that. Lying in bed and staring at the ceiling won’t give him all the answers and neither will photosynthesising from the sunlight filtering through his blinds, so Wooyoung hauls himself up, swinging his legs over the edge and stretches like a well-rested cat. If he can’t already think of something to do with his time, he’ll just have to enjoy breakfast and take a walk around the town he’s called home for the last few years. A pretty solid plan, right?

Breakfast comes and goes—an iced americano and that pain aux raisin Yeosang brought last night—quickly enough that Wooyoung’s out of apartment building and in the fresh air to still see the odd office worker making their way to work. A glance at his phone reveals it’s seven thirty, a time that’d usually have him in the midst of his commute. But he’s not doing that. He doesn’t have to do that now.

It's pretty freeing, actually.

Tugging his coat closer around his body, Wooyoung sticks his hands in his pockets and continues walking along the pavement. It’s not long before he’s nearing the high street, and even then he’s already passed a few buildings and stores he’s never noticed before. Between work and the commute to his downtown office, Wooyoung’s less familiar with his own neighbourhood that he probably should be. There’s the odd convenience store he’s been inside a couple of times, sure, but other than that?

Damn, he’s practically a stranger here. Is he that much of workaholic?

Determined to familiarise himself with the neighbourhood, Wooyoung keeps up his tidy little routine for the next week or so. He visits the stores nearby, spends an evening or two in a café (okay, these are alright, but not exactly to his slightly particular tastes) and befriends a music store owner named Yeonjun. The latter of which took him a few hours; the fastest he’s made a friend, in fact.

“Is this new..?” Wooyoung mutters under his breath as he takes a left turn onto a quaint alley he’s only just noticed during his walks. It’s a tea and coffee shop, he thinks upon taking a few steps closer and huffs a laugh when he catches sight of the sign. A Bite for Tea. Of course it’s a pun. “Might as well take a look inside then.”

The inside of the place itself is…well, it’s warm, inviting and just the sort of place he’d have recommended in one of his articles a few months ago, if he had known of its existence. A cozy little find, or something along those lines. He takes a breath, and the immediate hit of coffee and a myriad of other kinds of tea in the air wrap around him like a gentle hug. And he’s smiling at nothing in particular. What the hell—in a good way, he thinks. The door’s already shut behind him, a door chime above his head sounding out that he’s only just noticed, and if he leaves now he’ll look only a little out of his mind.

No big deal.

“Uh, hi,” he says, approaching the counter and trying not to stare at the—damn, he’s blushing—man at the counter. “Can I get an iced americano with caramel, please?”

“Sure thing,” the barista grins, “do you want anything else with that? All the baked goods are made in-house.” And surely, Wooyoung’s eyes travel over the counter at the tidy display of baked goods and everything looks homemade. In that artisan-bakery-but-not-snobbish way.

A few minutes later and he’s sitting at one of the handful of tables, sipping on his coffee between bites of lemon drizzle cake and jotting down ideas in his Notes app. Between the citrus sweetness of the cake and the atmosphere in this coffee shop, Wooyoung’s never felt so inspired. There are ideas pouring out of him, filling up the notes page faster than he’s ever written before. He takes another bite of the cake, catches himself almost moaning at the taste—seriously, this is witchcraft, how is it this good?!—and makes a promise to visit the coffee shop more often. This place is inspiration turned physical. The fact this has been a few minutes away from his apartment for who knows how long, and he’s not known about it? Absolutely criminal.

Yes, it’s technically his fault for burying his head in work. So what? Still a crime.

He brings a journal with him now, each day that’s stepping foot inside A Bite for Tea and taking advantage of the surge of creativity it’s giving him. It’s not exactly any kind of work that he’s writing, just some short stories and prose, but he is writing and that’s what counts here. Without fail, every single baked treat he orders (by far his favourite has to be either the cinnamon sugar croissant loaf or those ‘everything’ bagels Wooyoung swears he’d sell his soul for) is practically perfect and has that fresh-out-of-the-oven warmth he adores. Every single time he’s stopped by these last few days, oddly enough.

Y/n doesn’t put too much faith in stereotypes, or overdone tropes, but he’s certainly been picking up on pattern lately. A new regular of his, if a week straight of visiting the coffee shop meets the criteria, likes sitting in the exact same spot. Under the window y/n affectionately nicknames the ‘sun-canopy’ with a drink, snack and journal in hand. Like a cat basking in the sun’s warmth. Or one of his coven’s members on their days off.

It's a thought that makes the coffee shop’s owner grin as he pulls a fresh batch of bagels out of the industrial-sized oven, setting it aside to cool and dusting his hands on the apron tied around his waist. It’s still pretty early, no later than nine am at most and thanks to a quick peek out front, there’s no one at any of the tables yet. Apart from Reddie, but the Abyssinian cat gets a pass.

Just enough time to dash upstairs and retrieve the thing he had delivered last night.

Right on time. Y/n perks up as Journal Writer™ enters the shop around half noon, congratulating himself on timing when he’d bake the latest batch of bagels. They’ve just finished cooling, definitely still warm to touch and the smell of them alone is making y/n’s mouth water. He’ll just have to settle with toasting one later and having it with that spiced preserve he’s been saving. Or perhaps with a cup of blood-infused tea. Journal Writer looks to the display case and for a moment, y/n’s worried he might have assumed wrong.

“Can I get an iced americano and an everything bagel, please?” Whatever worries he had a minute ago are gone, because the raven-haired man orders exactly what y/n was expecting. He fulfils the order, a pleased smile etched onto his face.

It’s rare for his vampiric intuition to fail him.

Y/n hears rather than sees the confused hmm while he’s giving the coffee shop counter a quick wipe down, peering up and unable to resist the amused huff that slips past his lips. The sight itself is pretty picture-worthy; Reddie curled up right where Journal Writer plans to sit down, leisurely batting the little reserved sign on the table. Storing the cloth and disinfectant under the counter where it belongs, y/n steps around it and closes the short distance before gathering the cat in his arms, admonishing her with a gentle tap on the forehead.

“Sorry about her,” y/n says, giving in and giving the cat a few scritches before sending her on her way. “Reddie’s not usually the type to sit on the tables. Let me give it a quick wipe down for you.”

Returning behind the counter to grab wipes and a couple tissues, y/n gives the table a once over, catching the confused look his new regular’s giving him out of the corner of his eye. Why’s he looking at him like that..?

He follow’s Journal Writer’s gaze, and right. The reserved sign.

“Ah right, I should have mentioned, but the sign’s actually there for you.”

“Huh? Really?” And y/n has to be forgiven for the way he can practically feel his pupils dilating at the sight in front of him. Journal Writer looking at him with wide eyes, raised brows and lips parted in surprise. With enough focus, he can hear a pulse, steady but strong, picking up the pace a little and—

No. He’s not even hungry. Y/n can hold off until sunset.

“Yeah,” y/n starts off, straightening up. “I know it might be a little… much, but I’ve noticed you’ve liked sitting at this table for the past week or so. Since this place doesn’t get too much attention, I figured putting the sign here wouldn’t be too much hassle.”

Y/n leaves that conversation with a few new pieces of information to himself. First, that Journal Writer’s affinity for the sun-canopy isn’t something he’s imagined up, and that his new regular is pretty cute. And human, though y/n really should have noticed that by now. Though with the modest customer base the coffee shop does have, it’s hard to deny that y/n assumes most people who walk through the doors aren’t human.

In between serving the handful of customers that show up over the next few hours, sustaining his cravings with the flask he keeps in the kitchen and looking after Reddie, y/n admires the way the sunset begins to creep over the sky. Or what of the sunset he can see from the front counter. It’s beautiful, painting soft pinks and orange overhead and dusting the side-street the coffee shop sits on in a cozy glow. With hardly anyone in the coffee shop, y/n excuses himself—to no one in particular—and makes a spiced mug of peppermint tea, letting the warmth of the mug seep into his hands as he watches the last remnants of daylight pass by.

Until a very familiar car parks by out front. The Coven is here.

“Councillor Jung,” Y/n says, discarding the half-empty mug on the counter and making his way round. “Is something the matter? You don’t make unannounced visits unless—”

“I need to, I know.” Councillor Jung Hoseok answers stoically, finishing y/n’s sentence. The older vampire merely looks back towards the car, where Councillor Min helps someone—a fledgling, no doubt—out of the grey SUV and into A Bite for Tea. The sight alone sends a chill down y/n’s spine the longer he takes in the young fledgling’s dishevelled appearance.

Who is this and what on earth happened?

“We knew you were open to emergency cases,” Councillor Jung continues while y/n remains in shock. “And we’ve only just had this young lady’s case come in, may we speak inside?”

“Yes, yes of course, come on upstairs. We can speak inside my apartment.” Y/n stammers out, clearing his throat and leading the two older men up to his home above the coffee shop. His mind races, the mere sight of the fledgling stirring up possibilities that the vampire rather not imagine.

He doesn’t even register Councillor Min’s comment on the human currently half-asleep at the table.

Wooyoung’s still thinking about it. It’s been a good few days since he’s been to the coffee shop—a full month since his career break started too, now that he thinks about it—and Wooyoung cannot stop himself from questioning what on earth it was that he heard that evening. Nor does it help the fact that he was half-asleep when it happened, dragging himself out of A Bite for Tea that night with a yawn and languid steps. It’s maddening, he realises while taking a spoonful of the omelette rice he made earlier, letting the TV play without paying much attention to it anymore.

Is something going to happen to his new favourite spot? Why did he hear two strange voices talking about fledglings and maintaining a regular feeding schedule?

“I’m losing my mind. I have to be.” Wooyoung announces to his empty apartment, shoving another spoonful of rice into his mouth and nearly choking on said rice when he’s jump scared by a loud sound effect from the TV show he’s been ignoring. He takes several deep breaths, trying to steer his mind in another direction entirely.

It doesn’t work.

He seriously can’t stop thinking about it.

He finishes the rest of his lunch in a huff, frustrated over his inability to figure out what exactly he heard that night and why he’s so fixated on it. With nothing else to distract himself from the incoming spiral, Wooyoung practically jumps off the sofa, putting his bowl away in a hurry and searching for his phone—which he swears he left in his room, god knows where.

Just as he thought, the blasted device is exactly where he left it, waiting for him on his desk and Wooyoung snatches it up as he sinks into his desk chair. The brief dopamine hit plummets like a stone when he unlocks the device and reads the latest message from Yeonjun, an understanding pout on his face.

Jjun: Woo mate I’m so so sorry :(( [14:32]

Jjun: Gonna have to cancel tonight, shelving unit dropped on my leg + stuck in A&E rn [14:33]

The mental picture alone makes Wooyoung grimace, pins and needles shooting down to his legs as his mind ever so kindly makes the mental image more and more realistic. Either way, that’s his plans out of the window, leaving the man with nothing concrete to do for the rest of the day other than veg out on his sofa and catch up on his drama watch-list. Or get back to playing Baldur’s Gate 3, his last save leaving him with much to look forward to. But while he can wallow in the misery of no longer having plans later, what he should do right now is let Yeonjun know that everything’s perfectly fine. Minus the possible broken leg, of course.

Woo: Dw! It’s all good ^-^ [14:46]

Woo: Be careful in future tho lmao, if you need me to pick you up after you’re done, lmk! [14:46]

Jjun: I will, and dw, my cousin’s here with me, but thanks :D [14:50]

Scrolling through his phone for a few more minutes while he mindlessly spins back-and-forth in his chair, Wooyoung loses himself to the joys of online window shopping, adding more and more things to his various wish lists. He’ll get round to buying some of them eventually, just maybe when he can afford to spend more time working from home. And building his dream desk setup. Though he does treat himself to a new keyboard, humming in satisfaction when one of his many wish lists gets ever so slightly smaller.

“…do you want me to bring takeout again?” Yeosang asks from the other end of the call, Wooyoung ever so grateful that his childhood friend is willing to indulge his boredom.

“Nope~ just bring yourself, I’ve got some cheesecake in the fridge from the dessert place we like.” He chuckles, making his way over to the fridge and taking another look at the majestic slices of cheesecake sitting inside. “You’re not streaming today, right? That’s tomorrow?”

“Mhm, I’m thinking of doing something cozy,” he hears Yeosang hum, “there’s a few indie games I want to play, take my mind off of work, you know.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. On your way?”

“Like, five minutes away, yeah. See you then.”

Hearing the sound of his door code being entered in successfully, Wooyoung hurries up bringing the cheesecake to the living room, setting it down on the coffee table and covering it with the cloche. There’s no one else it could possibly be, so he relaxes against the sofa as Yeosang invites himself inside, placing his shoes off to the side and collapsing onto Wooyoung’s sofa with a huff.

Ah. It’s a no questions asked kind of mood.

Apart from the sound of Yeosang letting off steam and the soft echo of oncoming rain outside, Wooyoung’s apartment is rather quiet, a serene stillness that not even the dimmed noise of his TV could disturb. It’s rather nice, actually. He’s not thinking about what happened the other night—or what he thinks happened—and he gets to spend the rest of the day with company he’s all too fond of. And the more he listens to Yeosang, the more he’s adding in quiet assertions of his own, engrossing himself in the retelling of a Karen who just wouldn’t leave the café, Yeosang’s place of work, alone.

“…honestly, Hyerin noona was a good five seconds away from calling the cops,” Yeosang giggles, obviously coming to the end of his retelling, “I swear, the temperature dropped like, a whole ten degrees, she was so angry.”

“She’s your boss, right? Does she actually work front of house?” Wooyoung asks, then shuffles Yeosang’s head off of his lap to get up. “Hey— do you want hot chocolate? I bought some from this artisan place.”

“Yeah, that’s her. I mean, she’s not always at the front but she says it’s good for business or whatever that she spends at least some of her time out of her office.” Yeosang nods and then nods again when he processes the request tacked on to the end.

Well then, hot chocolate for two it is then.

Clicking his tongue along to the rhythm of nothing in particular, Wooyoung leans against his kitchen counter, waiting for the kettle to boil. The seconds feel like minutes, especially when he could be back in his living room enjoying the rest of Yeosang’s Karen story. In fact, he could do just that, since his kettle likes taking its sweet time the more water Wooyoung forces it to boil. So, he pushes himself off the counter, dramatically spinning around on his right foot so he can make his way back to his living room sofa.

Except his left foot catches on the leg of his laundry stand. Sending him careening towards the laminate flooring.

“Wooyoung!” Is the sound that greets him when he opens his eyes, and not the sound he was expecting: his body slamming against the floor. In a daze as Yeosang stands him the right way up and checks him over, Wooyoung can barely get a word out over the rushing sound of his panicked heartbeat in his ears nor the sound of the kettle—the little traitorous machine—finally done boiling. When he doesn’t respond beyond merely nodding when Yeosang asks if he’s okay, Wooyoung allows himself to be walked back to the sofa.

How did he not immediately faceplant his kitchen floor? How did Yeosang make it all the way over to him in that span of time?

“You’re okay, right?” Yeosang asks, having apparently finished prepping the hot chocolate and brought it to the coffee table. “Do you need me to call 112 or—”

“How did you do that?”

The dumbfounded look Wooyoung gets in return absolutely does not help.

“Yeosang I swear to God,” he stresses, reaching for his own mug of hot chocolate. “You know what I’m talking about. How the hell did you catch me in time?” Wooyoung’s question hangs in the air, tension building between them thick enough it could wrap around the living room in layers of uncomfortable warmth. All of a sudden, it feels like an interrogation, and the both of them take strangely long gulps of the beverage in their hands.

Well, shit.

If this has anything to do with his best friend looking strangely different lately, Wooyoung might just start spiralling even more than he already was these past few days. First he starts hearing these strange people walk inside the café he frequents, and now Yeosang is capable of crossing the entire expanse of his living room in the seconds it took for him to lose his balance and nearly fall over?

“I was already getting up when you started falling over.” Yeosang shrugs, unmuting the TV and paying attention to the show they were both ignoring a few minutes ago, sipping on his own hot chocolate.

He doesn’t know why, but Wooyoung can tell that that answer is bullshit. It has to be.

No less than five minutes after he finds himself alone in his apartment again, Wooyoung makes a beeline for his laptop. He needs to find an answer to this…thing that’s been plaguing him, otherwise he’s going to go stir-crazy. Entering his password and opening the browser as soon as he’s able to, Wooyoung’s fingers dart across the keyboard in record speed, entering his highly pressing question into the search bar.

My best friend doesn't look like himself and he's faster than usual. Is something wrong?

He’s met with a few odd-looking adverts, websites that lead to questionable services and finally, finally, the thing he’s looking for. Technically. It’s a reddit thread, with an alarmingly similar title, but it’s got what he needs, so Wooyoung clicks on it anyway.

“The fuck..?” The man mutters, reading further and further along the thread. Everything he’s reading matches up with all the weird nonsense he’s been going through, yet Wooyoung can’t wrap his head around it. It’s all so outlandish, something out of a fantasy novel or a young teen’s favourite fanfiction, but it just makes sense. “Turned— born— vampires?!”

If what he’s reading is true, and it’s slowly staring to seem so, then that means Yeosang is a…

No, he can’t be! Who would even do such a thing..?

Nausea settles in Wooyoung’s chest as he shuts the laptop, not bothering to turn it off properly. A chilling dread works its way through every part of his body, stealing the breath out of his lungs the more he dwells on everything he’s learnt. It keeps him trapped at his desk. Keeps his body frozen despite the way his subconscious yells at him to write something, to do something, anything about his discovery. The retro clock on his desk ticks away the seconds, only made louder by the stillness in the air until Wooyoung inhales sharply and almost knocks himself out from the sudden oxygen spike. Staying like this surely can’t be good for his health. He needs to move, work off the anxious ball of stress winding itself around his heart, he…

He needs to sleep.

“I need a drink.”

Three days. Three days of fretting and pacing around his apartment later and Wooyoung is without a doubt a mess. How in the world is he not supposed to be? The things he learned in that reddit thread still haunt him, ever in the back of his mind. Even as he finishes tying the laces on his shoes and steps out of his home, intent on getting outside. His journal’s been untouched lately too. Maybe checking in on Yeonjun or finding a new trinket to buy will distract him from the image he keeps flicking back to of Yeosang being attacked and turned into a vampire against his will. Or visiting that stationary store near the train station—his supply of washi tape has been slowly depleting.

Frankly, whatever it is, he needs to get out of the house and get some fresh air.

After a few hours outside, a good number of purchases in his bag and a surprisingly little number of stress-inducing thoughts, Wooyoung’s feeling much better. The breeze is gentle, rustling the leaves that remain now that the weather’s growing colder. He tugs his scarf just that little bit tighter around his neck while he continues to walk through town, a breathy chuckle slipping past his lips as a chill makes his way down his spine.

The chill leaves him as soon as he steps inside A Bite for Tea, door chime sounding out above as warmth wraps around him. It’s only been a few days, yet it’s like coming home after months away. Home to a cozy coffee shop with its handful of customers and swathes of inspiration.

“The usual?” Is what greets Wooyoung as he approaches the counter, coupled with a charming smile from the man opposite him. For a moment, he loses himself in the added familiarity of it, until he clears his throat and finally gets round to ordering.

“Yeah, but a regular americano this time, I think.”

“Sure thing. Why don’t you take a seat? I’ll bring it to your table.”

Y/n’s worried. No, he’s… concerned? Reasonably unnerved? With how Journal Writer’s practically staring a hole into the untouched mug of coffee and oddly still, it bugs him. It was only a few minutes ago that his human regular was looking at him with a pleasant smile, after all. Surely it’s none of his business. He’s here to serve his customers with good coffee—spiced or otherwise—and food, not to push any buttons by asking questions. Yet y/n has plenty of questions he wants answers to, mostly about Journal Writer and why he looks like he’s seen a ghost.

When noon begins to bleed into late afternoon and even the evening without any sort of sign that Journal Writer’s feeling better about whatever it is, y/n sighs, washing a mug while his eyes keep trailing over to his regular by the sun-canopy. It wouldn’t be fair to keep ignoring it now—given the fact he’s had Lily, the fledgeling from a few nights ago, pester him to go and do something about that guy for the last few hours now. He puts the mug away, dries his hands, and sighs again. Time to find out what’s up with Journal Writer.

Luckily enough, it doesn’t seem like there’s going to be any more people coming into the shop today, so y/n abandons his post behind the counter. He leaves the sign on the door, in case anyone does decide to show up, and walks over to the sun-canopy. Journal Writer still hasn’t looked up from the rather bare journal page, and y/n chuckles, knocking the table and light-heartedly raising a brow when his presence is acknowledged.

“Knock-knock,” he says, pulling out a chair to sit down. “Mind if I sit here?”

“Sure, that’s alright.” Journal Writer answers, briefly looking up from his journal to y/n and shrugging. Only to look to the coffee shop counter, back to y/n, and right back to the counter. “Aren’t you usually behind the counter..? Are you allowed to..?”

Y/n laughs. God, he’s cute.

“I’d certainly hope so; I run the place after all.” He explains, watching the realisation dawn on the man in front of him. But since he’s sitting here for more than just a bit of small talk, y/n gets right to it. “But I, uh, I actually wanted to come over here and ask if you were okay? You spent a few hours just sorta…staring into space.”

“…I did?” Y/n nods. Journal Writer’s mouth falls into a silent oh. “I’ve just got a lot on my mind, that’s all.”

“You can talk to me about it, if you want. Customer confidentiality and all that jazz.”

“Isn’t that for doctors?” Journal Writer asks with an amused tilt of his head, which y/n shrugs to. Semantics, he muses. Which is all takes for Journal Writer to laugh, call him curious and begin unloading everything that’s been worrying about.

It’s…well, it’s a lot.

“…and frankly, it’s really not that I’m worried about there being vampires in town or anything! I’m sure the majority are absolutely great! Wonderful, even! But Yeosang’s my best friend, and I have no idea how on earth he even turned. Whether he was forced to turn into one, attacked or didn’t know what he was getting into. I don’t even know when he was turned! And we’ve been friends for a decade; we tell each other everything!” Journal Writer forces an exhale as he barrels through the final part of his rant, talking as fast as the frantic heartbeat that y/n’s picking up.

 Journal Writer’s desperate fretting the longer he goes on only helps to fester concern for the supposed turned vampire his regular’s talking about, y/n’s own temporary fledgling case fresh on his mind. Again, the vampire silently reminds himself, this is technically none of his business. It really isn’t. Yet the reminder doesn’t do anything about the growing desire to do something and help.

“…it’s probably not that big of a deal anyway, but I can’t stop myself from worrying, you know?” If only the—now that he’s really noticing—brunet knew how much that was true.

“Yeah, I get what you mean, it’s hard not to worry.” Y/n admits, then grimaces when he glances outside at how dark it is. “You’re free to tell me I’m overstepping, but will you be okay heading home tonight? It’s already pretty dark outside, and I do live just upstairs—"

Journal Writer giggles. If there was more blood in his system, y/n would be blushing right now.

“Thanks, but uh… I’ll be fine, my place isn’t too far away from here. I’m Wooyoung, by the way. Jung Wooyoung. And thank you, again, for listening to me talk your ear off. I appreciated it.”

“No problem, I’m glad I could help.” He says, and then promptly remembers that he hasn’t introduced himself yet. Or at all, since he’s vicariously known Wooyoung. “Oh— and I’m y/n. Y/n l/n.”

Somehow the rest of that conversation ends with numbers being exchanged. Mostly in the guise of y/n knowing when to expect the brunet in the shop. Wooyoung’s off soon after that, bowing his head as he leaves the coffee shop and leaving y/n with an unfamiliar feeling in his chest.

A feeling that makes its way past y/n’s lips as a surprised huff an hour or so later as he finishes closing the shop and the dots connect themselves. Journal Writer. What a coincidence.

It doesn’t escape y/n either that he kept quiet about his own vampirism.

Wooyoung’s really starting to regret not accepting the coffee shop owner’s offer to stay the night, teeth practically rattling as he walks home. Clutching onto his coat isn’t helping either, the fabric not as equipped to the chill of winter as the columnist thought. It’s overcoat weather, frankly. The kind of weather that calls for hand warmers and thick scarves that wrap around like a blanket. Two items of clothing that Wooyoung decidedly chose not to wear tonight, instead betting his luck on a cotton trench coat and a pair of gloves.

He swears under his breath the moment he feels the air change around him. Hairs off the back of his neck stand up, alerted by the sudden stillness, both by Wooyoung and whatever it is that has him on edge. He’s not alone, and everywhere except the spots under the streetlights is practically pitch black. It can’t be anything, not when Wooyoung’s come to know these streets like the back of his hand over the last thirty or so days. Surely it’s nothing.

Still, he picks up the pace, walking with a lot more purpose now.

“I’m fine, I’m fine, I’m going to be fine…” He whispers, repeating the mantra like a prayer while keeping an ear out for footsteps of any kind. There aren’t any.

But he’s still being followed. He just knows it.

Come on, one more street to cross and we’ll be there, Wooyoung reminds himself, letting his subconscious do the talking now that he’s too scared to utter a sound. His heartbeat’s loud enough as is, thank you very much. Walking so fast he’s almost jogging, it’s sheer luck that he’s not tripping over himself or anything else, barely focused on where he’s landing his feet. There’s just one more stretch of road ahead of him to cross before he’s on his street, before he can begin to count himself lucky and—

“Oh, stop running already.” A voice snarls, and Wooyoung’s being thrown against a lamppost.

His head hits on impact, a throbbing pain blooming like roses as he’s dazed and stumbles for balance. Everything happens so fast, the hands forcing him still, fangs grazing spot where his neck meets his collarbone, biting down and his blood rushing, rushing out of him. His attacker gulps it down greedily, audible, stomach-turning sounds of elation echoing in his ear all while Wooyoung body grows colder and colder by the second. This is it; he belatedly realises, this is where he’s going to die.

His face grows wet with tears. It isn’t supposed to end like this.

A last burst of adrenaline gives him enough strength to shove his attacker off, sending them only a few feet away, yet the assailant—some feral-looking vampire—doesn’t seem to mind. They head off, sprinting off into the darkness and leaving Wooyoung to crumple to the ground as the agony truly starts to kick in. His mouth opens in a silent scream, clutching at the open wound with both hands as blood continues to pour out of it, coating his hands, his clothes and filling the air with its iron-clad scent.

“Call…call, I need to—” call someone, he gasps, freeing one hand to rifle for his phone and shaking as he unlocks it. A wave of dizziness washes over him as he opens the dial menu, shaking like an autumn leaf as he presses on the first number in his recently dialled list. It doesn’t really matter who it is anymore, all Wooyoung needs is someone to help him.

It rings once. Then again. Then again.

“…Wooyoung-ssi? Is everything alright?”

Wooyoung’s phone clatters to the ground, the man already unconscious.

Y/n’s face pinches into a frown when there’s no response, the concern mounting even more the longer hears nothing but wind from Wooyoung’s end of the call. He sits up on the sofa, shifting Reddie off of his lap and muttering an apology when she meows in protest. He tries again, calling the other man’s name again and cursing when there’s still nothing. Like that’d solve anything.

Does he need to find him? He needs to find Wooyoung.

“Lily!” He calls out, having hung up the call and shrugged on a coat and shoes. She stumbles out of her room, eyes curious and watching him with trepidation. “I need to go look for someone; keep an eye on the apartment for me, hm?”

“Sure, uh, no problem. Are there rogues out?” She asks, unaware that y/n’s now thinking of worst-case scenarios. Councillor Jung had said rogue activity was picking up with the drop in temperature, why hadn’t he thought about that earlier?

“Hopefully not,” he says anyway, a placating smile that probably looks a tad too forced. “Optimism never hurt anyone.”

Oh, hells below, it���s freezing. Optimism be damned, y/n blows warm air between his hands as he runs down the street, trying to locate what’s expecting—and frankly dreading—to be Wooyoung hidden away somewhere. Hopefully just frozen to the bone and not…he pushes the thought away, not even willing to entertain the idea. The man was very much human just a few hours ago, and y/n can only wish that Wooyoung stays that way when he finds him. All he remembers is that Wooyoung was heading home, but he doesn’t know where the hell that is and he’s been running around town for the last ten minutes, thanking whoever can hear him for vampiric speed.

Desperation clings to y/n like a parasite, cloying heavy in his mouth with each frigid breath. There’s no way he’s going back to his apartment tonight unsuccessful. He just needs to keep looking, because if his unfortunately pessimistic gut-feeling is correct, the state he’ll find Wooyoung in won’t be good.

There’s a slumped body in the distance.

“Wooyoung-ssi!” Y/n calls out, praying he’s correct. He all but sprints over, skidding to a stop and kneeling down to examine the body. It is him, and y/n nearly cries out in relief until his senses catch up with him and he smells it. Blood.

It coats Wooyoung’s clothes, creates a small stain on the ground and y/n’s gaze is laser-focused as he searches for the source, a pit settling in his stomach at the nasty and vicious bite wound. It’s grim to look at, but y/n can’t afford to either keep staring or allow himself to taste the other man’s blood from the way the scent clogs his nose and reaches the back of his throat. The man’s still alive and getting him somewhere safe is what matters, not his own hunger.

He needs to try and wake Wooyoung up.

Y/n takes a deep breath—not that he needs the oxygen—and shakes the man’s shoulder, calling on Wooyoung repeatedly in a frantic attempt to get him to wake up. Seconds feel like minutes, y/n trying whatever he can to get a response. It’s freezing cold, so the faster that Wooyoung is awake and able to accept the vampire’s help, the better. Preferably in the next minute, because the chill is starting to seep through the thick overcoat he’s wearing.

“…y/n?” He hears Wooyoung breath out hoarsely, and latches onto it as a sign on life. Honestly he’ll take anything right now.

“That’s right, it’s me. I need you to stay awake, okay?” He asks, lacing his tone with as much reassurance as he can, though Wooyoung stares at him through delirious eyes. “It’s not far to my apartment, we’ll head there.” He hoists Wooyoung up, muttering apologies while he manoeuvres around to grab some of the things that have clattered to the ground, namely the same phone that dialled him earlier that evening.

Y/n: Bringing a friend back, he’s not doing too well [21:23]

Y/n: Bring the first aid kit and some spare clothes from my wardrobe to the living room for me? [21:24]

Lils: Got it! [21:25]

Lils: Hope your friend’s okay tho [21:25]

Y/n pockets his own phone after that, giving the almost empty streets and a dazed Wooyoung his full attention. They’re almost there, making slow progress, but still making progress, nonetheless. Readjusting his hold, y/n makes it to the other side, but frowns when Wooyoung becomes even more of a dead weight. It doesn’t deter him, merely making y/n hold onto him tighter with each passing step.

And then y/n feels Wooyoung grow limp, slumping in his arms.

“Hey, Wooyoung— look at me, hey,” y/n pants, patting Wooyoung’s face a tad more firmly now, jaw clenched, and brows pinched in effort. “You gotta stay awake, c’mon, just a little bit longer. I know you can make it, just hold on for me.”

Come on, come on, be alive dammit. There’s ringing in y/n’s ears when he presses his fingers to Wooyoung’s neck, searching for a pulse. It’s hardly even there, a weak echo of the strong and very much alive heartbeat he heard a few hours ago. Trembling as he pulls his hands away, y/n stares at the face cradled in his hands, a lump in his throat at thought of what he has to do. He can’t, but he has to. He doesn’t want to sink his fangs into Wooyoung, to turn him against his will but y/n needs to.

He needs to. He doesn’t know how old Wooyoung is, but the man’s too young to die. Not yet.

So, he opens his mouth, sinks his fangs into Wooyoung’s neck and drinks what’s left.

Lils: You still outside? [21:40]

Y/n: Got caught up.  [21:49]

Y/n: I’ll be picking up extra blood tmrw morning. We’ll need it [21:51]

Waking up feels like being hit in the head with a sledgehammer. Everything’s much sharper, much clearer and Wooyoung isn’t sure he knows what the hell is going on. Between the strange ache in his gums and the pounding well, everywhere, headache, the columnist’s pretty sure today sucks. He blinks at the ceiling, staring at it a few minutes more trying to piece together just what about it looks so unfamiliar. Last he remembers, he was walking home after unloading his anxieties to the owner of A Bite for Tea, then got freaked out and—

Oh, right. This isn’t his ceiling.

“What the hell?!” He exclaims, shooting up into a vague sitting position and wincing when the motion worsens his headache. He’s not home, nowhere he recognises and in so much pain Wooyoung can hardly piece together his next thought. Squinting only relieves so much, so he abandons it all together, simply opting to look around and figure out where he is. He hears footsteps, snapping his head in the direction of the sound and freezing at the sight of a young woman staring right back at him, a hoodie drawn around her body.

“You finally up?” The woman says, observing him before turning to one of the doors. “Y/n, your friend’s awake!” She’s gone after that, entering a kitchen and leaving Wooyoung to stew in his confused shock.

Somehow the knowledge that he’s in y/n’s home puts Wooyoung’s mind at ease. At least he’s not in a complete stranger’s home, which isn’t the same as actually being at home, but it’s better than nothing. He’s pretty much left alone in the living room again, minus the oddly familiar cat wandering around, and there’s no time like the present to do a bit of snooping.

Adjusting and tightening the towel around his hips as he leaves the bathroom, y/n gives Reddie an appreciative scritch behind the ears before heading to his room in search of a change of clothes. The last eighteen hours have put him through the wringer, the sudden weight of new responsibilities bearing down on him. But it’s alright now; Wooyoung’s okay, the Council understand the situation and all he has to do now after getting dressed is have a conversation with the newly-turned vampire about it all.

Except the newly-turned vampire in question isn’t in the living room, but in his bedroom..?

“Wooyoung-ssi?” Y/n starts, the rest of his question hanging in the air as said air thickens with awkward tension. Wooyoung’s gawking at him, either mortified at being discovered or staring at his physique, and y/n can really only chuckle. It doesn’t help that the other vampire is wearing his clothes—after the bloodstained items were carefully stripped away to be dry-cleaned—making y/n traitorously think about how cute it looks.

“Is everything—”

“Oh my god, I am so sorry!” A gust of wind travels past y/n as Wooyoung bolts out of his room, unwittingly using his new physical capabilities. Physical capabilities that y/n’s going to have to explain in detail. He sighs, closing his bedroom door and opens his wardrobe.

Today is going to be a long day.

Sat on the sofa after a lengthy explanation of Wooyoung’s new predicament—that y/n would rather never have to do ever again—y/n clears his throat, the deafening silence hanging over the space creating a heavy blanket of tension. In fact, he can feel the hole that his newest fledgling is staring into the side of his head, unable to maintain eye contact longer than a few seconds at a time lest he feel even more guilty. Not for saving Wooyoung’s life. He could never feel guilty for that. Instead, y/n counts the already visible changes; the pallor tone of the man’s skin, visible heightened awareness of their current surroundings, and how y/n’s clothes hang on Wooyoung’s body. The last change he notices makes the older vampire (thanks to Wooyoung revealing he’s twenty-five. God, so young. Too young.) clear his throat again, too aware that he quite likes the image beside him.

“Let me get this straight,” he hears Wooyoung say, finally breaking the silence. “I’m vampire now?”

“A turned vampire, yeah.”

“Because you turned me, after I called you for help? Since you’re a vampire as well?”

“That’s right.” Y/n answers, voice strained. “You were succumbing to the blood loss and… I don’t know, I couldn’t just leave you there to bleed out in the cold.”

The silence is there again, until Wooyoung hums in a way that y/n hopes is acceptance. It’d be hard to take back his actions now anyway. And if Wooyoung chooses to avoid the coffee shop from here on out, he’ll understand.

“Right, okay… makes sense. I think. What about that girl who lives here? Did you turn her as well?” Wooyoung asks, and this, y/n can answer confidently. It’s something he’s passionate about, after all.

“Her name’s Lily, and she’s only really here for the month or so, until some things in her life settle.” He explains and definitely doesn’t think about why Wooyoung almost looks relieved, watching and listening to him intently. “I work with the National Coven to provide shelter to struggling new fledgelings, give them somewhere to stay whilst they get their life back in order. Usually after being unknowingly turned or their Sire disappearing far too soon. I guess you could say it’s a bit like fostering young people, just… with vampires.”

Wooyoung’s looking at him with a raised brow as his explanation comes to an end, a question clearly on the younger vampire’s lips. Is something the matter, y/n’s own expression says, brows raised as well. The silent counter-question translates easily apparently, since Wooyoung voices what’s on his mind.

“What about that coffee shop? I swear I remember you saying that were the owner…”

“I am, and well, it’s downstairs, so I might head down later to—hey! What’s with that look? The coffee shop really is downstairs, I’m serious! Do you want me to show you?”

“Sure, why not? Lead the way.”

Taking another sip from his new flask and in his own clothes again a few days later, Wooyoung counts down the seconds to when he knows Yeosang finishes his afternoon shift. There’s a conversation he needs to have now. Tell his best friend a secret that he suspects Yeosang should have told him as well. He watches the last few people leave the café, and then promptly starts getting impatient. Just what’s taking him so long? Tapping his foot, he zeroes in on the sound of familiar humming and pushes himself off the wall, almost predatorial in the way he waits for the moment to strike.

…That’s a new instinct.

“You. Come with me.” Yeosang’s only a few steps out of the café before Wooyoung’s pulling him in the other direction, towards the park across the road. Sure, the other man’s complaining, but for all his strength, Wooyoung isn’t feeling Yeosang pulling back.

“Young-ah, the hell?! What’s going on?” Yeosang questions as he stumbles towards the park bench, catching himself in time to sit down. Wooyoung forces an exhale and sits beside him, readying himself to let the floodgates spill open. “You’re acting odd, is everything okay?”

“Why didn’t you tell me you became a vampire?” He spits out, then runs a hand through his hair. Y/n did mention that he’d be more impulsive, but damn, he sounds like a right arse. He just wants the truth. “And don’t… don’t act like I haven’t caught on, I spent a whole day freaking out about this, alright? You already lied once; you owe me~”

He watches Yeosang try to come up with an answer, opening and closing his mouth enough times that Wooyoung lovingly calls him a fish, and then finally seem to admit defeat.

“I didn’t tell you because I knew you’d worry about me,” Yeosang admits, “and I asked for this, Woo. No one attacked me or anything, promise.”

Lucky bastard, Wooyoung finds himself thinking. Not that he isn’t grateful that Yeosang’s vampirism was a choice, he is, but he would have liked to have been given that same choice. Yeosang looks at him strangely, repeats the first word and Wooyoung blinks, confused. Huh?

Did he say that out loud?

“What do you mean, lucky?” Oh, he absolutely said it out loud. “Jung Wooyoung? What. Do. You. Mean.” Yeosang frowns, leaning in closer like he’s trying to summon the answer through the power of eye contact alone. So Wooyoung smiles, a new set of sharp fangs poking past his lips.

“…surprise?”

Y/n’s not expecting any surprises by late afternoon, especially after the last few nights he’s been having. So, he nearly jumps out of his skin when the doors to A Bite for Tea all but fly open, Wooyoung stumbling inside as he’s pulled inside by another person—a friend?—until he’s made to sit at one of the tables. It almost looks like his fledgeling’s been scolded; hands clasped on the table like a child after dropping their parent’s prized vase. The sight’s endearing, and Y/n almost laughs from where he’s standing behind the glass display case at the front, still plating the slices of banana bread that have finished cooling.

He straightens up as Wooyoung’s friend approaches the counter, looking around like a man on a mission until y/n gently clears his throat, the friend zeroing onto him with a precision that y/n recognises. A turned vampire, he has to be. Whether this is the same friend y/n remembers Wooyoung mentioned being so concerned about a while ago, he can’t tell.

“Can I get you anything?”

“Yes, uh— do you know who y/n is? I heard he owns this coffee shop, and I need to speak to him.” The friend asks, looking less agitated with each word. “If he’s not here, can you send a message?”

“No need to, you’re speaking to him.” Y/n replies, a brow raising as he watches Wooyoung’s friend’s expression shift. From surprise, to relief, to something he can only really describe as… stern. All in a matter of seconds, too. “What is it you need to say?”

Instead of an answer right there and then, y/n ends up following the man to the table and taking a seat, still utterly confused. Looking between the two sat opposite him, he catches Wooyoung muttering I tried to stop him I swear, still looking very much like a scolded child, and what this is all about becomes abundantly clear very quickly.

“…and it was already freezing outside, there was no way I was going to let him succumb to the blood loss as well. There really was no other choice, and I felt responsible. Wooyoung-ssi had called me, so I was determined to help.” Y/n says, rounding off his explanation of the events leading up to Wooyoung’s vampirism, a solemn sincerity hanging over his words. Recalling the night itself isn’t the most pleasant thing in the world, and the born vampire excuses himself to give Wooyoung and his friend—Yeosang, who is the friend y/n remembers hearing about—space to…discuss, process, or say whatever it is they need to say, judging by the silent verbal conversation he sees the two having.

“I’ll be back at the counter if you need anything.” And he tucks his chair in, heading to the front counter to get back to his role as A Bite for Tea’s owner.

Now, Wooyoung doesn’t need anything from his new Sire yet, or whatever Yeosang called y/n, but Wooyoung sticks around long after his friend leaves the coffee shop, instead keeping himself busy with his phone and the cat. In between looking through social media, watching the odd cooking video and stroking the cat’s fur as she passes by, the newly turned vampire ends up staying in the shop until closing, a new brand of curiosity springing forth within his subconscious.

The kind of curiosity that y/n can help him with.

“Hey, y/n-ssi,” he says, helping the older vampire stack up chairs while said vampire sweeps the floor. “Mind if I ask you something?”

“Go ahead.”

“Do Sires and the vampires they turn have any kind of, I don’t know, relationship? Like a mentor and mentee kinda thing, or…?” Wooyoung doesn’t know what other kind of relationship he’s picturing when the question comes out of his mouth, or what he wants to picture either. So, he pauses his impromptu job of stacking chairs to turn to y/n, watching the cogs turn in the other man’s eyes.

“Well, as far as I know, it tends to just be different for everyone.” Y/n answers. It’s a satisfying enough answer for now, though knowing himself, Wooyoung’s fully aware he’ll be digging through that response for a clearer answer, something more defined he can fall back onto. “I was meaning to ask the last time you were here, but do you want me to go over some basic vampiric fundamentals someday? There are some things like the Coven, where to get blood and etcetera that’ll make life a lot easier for you.”

Huh. He hadn’t thought about that stuff yet.

“Why not?” Wooyoung replies, blasting through his vampiric speed to get the last of the chairs stacked up. “I’m pretty much always free, is there a time that suits you?”

It’s a back and forth, practically a negotiation when Wooyoung realises just how busy y/n actually is with these other responsibilities the older man apparently has. But eventually the date of his vampire classes is set for the next upcoming weekend, and Wooyoung gathers his things in order to head home.

“See you at the weekend!” He calls out as he leaves, y/n off somewhere in the coffee shop’s kitchen.

“It’s a date!” Y/n laughs, calling out in return.

…hopefully it will be.

© copyright work of armysantiny 2024-2025

Networks: @kwritersworld, @kdiarynet, @ultkpopnetwork, @whipped-kpop-creators, @blankjournal

@cromernet, @illusionnet

If you’ve made it this far, thank you for reading! Consider reblogging, leaving some feedback or donating to my kofi!

Taglist: @teeztheflag, @jeonqquk, @mikailo666, @blonghoonie, @xavi-in-kpopland

 @marxenash, @honey-andmilktea | Taglist form

[hazelnut-u-out]

Just coincidentally, I was talking to @dirty-bear-rick-sanchez, and he mentioned the fact that Evil Morty had a ‘Chekov’s Gun’. As soon as I saw the words, my brain immediately made some connections based on the events of ‘Rickmurai Jack’, ‘Full Meta Jackrick’, and ‘Unmortricken.’ 

First of all, I remembered making this post about the metaverse goggles in ‘Full Meta Jackrick.’ In the post, I was talking more about the device labeled ‘Foreshadowing’, which I thought could potentially show up in the future and make the glimpse we get of it in that episode a fun easter egg. Now, my focus is on how the devices and their labels coincide with the events of ‘Unmortricken.’ 

Let’s look at the Devices pictured: 

We have Checkov’s Guns, Foreshadowing, Ticking Clock, and Action Enhancer. (There are other devices that can be seen in the scene that are difficult to read. The one in the corner is labeled ‘Gratuitous Violence’.) Thinking about the events that took place in the Prime fight, these things may have come into play. While we didn’t see the exact Foreshadowing device pictured used in the fight, it did pique my interest that the device seems to be pointed at the Chekov’s Guns display. The Ticking Clock being placed above the Foreshadowing device also made me realize just how much that parallels the use of the Omega Device as it’s shown in ‘Unmortricken’.  Think about it… The reveal of the Omega Device is already being used as a method of Foreshadowing, Slow Mobius was lowered into the Omega Device from above while using his powers to slow the moment down (hence, Ticking Clock being a device used to create suspense), and at the end– when handed over to Evil Morty– the schematics become a Chekov’s Gun with a promise to return. Their placements parallel the events of the fight scene, even down to the blatant Gratuitous Violence! (I’ll admit, I don’t have an obvious placement for Action Enhancer yet, unless you count the Kill Bot drones/giant Diane Bots… I guess Evil Morty does ride one like a motorcycle!)

You don't show an Omega Device without erasing someone important to the audience from infinity, if you know what I mean.

I was having a lot of thoughts, and some of these branched off into different connections about Evil Morty and his exit, especially with the previous assumption/symbolism in mind. He looks at Rick and says the following: 

2 things I thought of:

1.) This feels like a threat, not just an exit.  It makes a lot of sense to interpret this as a future promise of betrayal. The fact that Evil Morty has to remind Morty Prime that they’re not friends makes me think he could come back to specifically stab Morty Prime (or Mortys) in the back, especially since he tends to dislike ‘sellout’ Mortys. Saying he could ‘use’ Rick for being ‘different’ makes me wonder if ‘ending the Rick Experiment’ could be synonymous with putting himself or another Morty in the Omega Device and eliminating the toxic relationship between Ricks and Mortys for good. Does acknowledging Rick is ‘different’ and useful imply that Evil Morty could use another life for leverage using the Omega Device in the future to get C-137 to do what he wants? (Not sure he’d erase himself since he references the vengeful Summers thing, but who knows?)

The events of ‘Full Meta Jackrick’ support this sub-theory, as well. Another post I made after the airing of ‘Full Meta Jackrick’ (here) talked about how I suspected Mr. Twist’s interaction with Morty (where he acknowledges Morty is the plot twist) might have actual weight to it.

If you remember, one of the BIG moments of ‘Full Meta Jackrick’ was this one right here: 

I think Rick emphasizing the importance of Morty’s existence is major foreshadowing. Not to mention, Rick tries to ban Morty from accompanying him to the Prime fight. More acknowledgment that Morty is very important to Rick. Being able to tie all of these elements back to a single episode AND Evil Morty’s arc would work quite well in terms of storytelling. 

2.) What is the ‘Rick Experiment’? I think that the Rick Experiment might just be Morty’s existence. Especially since we know our Rick was a founding father of the Citadel/Curve, it seems plausible that Mortys would be the central ‘Rick Experiment’ (created to be the perfect sidekick; obey them; keep them company; hide their brain waves; prove they could create life across infinity when the Omega Device can destroy it; and– for C-137 and others– there’s the added benefit in the search for Prime). I’ve even wondered who Ricks are trying to hide their brainwaves from while on the CFC, and I think that who might’ve been Prime. This theory would explain why Rick is holding Morty so triumphantly in that photo in Birdperson’s house in ‘Get Schwifty’ AND how Rick knew a Morty baby in general. 

We have to keep in mind that Evil Morty not only told our Morty about the Morty Trade in the first place, but also that he's probably the most knowledgeable (outside of C-137 or what's left of the Council) about the Morty Trade/ Rick Experiment in general, whatever that turns out to be.

This was essentially me throwing theories at a wall to see what sticks, so all of this could be nothing! Just some big food for thought, lol.

[dolphin-diaries]

How To Prevent Detransition In Five Simple Steps (Part 1)

Originally published on Dolphin Diaries.

What do you think of when you hear ‘detransitioner’?

The Right, likely. Grift and pantomime for clout, such as that of a certain doll or the world’s most Korean and Christian man. Coercion; forced detransition.

What do you think of, say, when you consider willing and genuine detransition? If you could look at Chloe Cole past her rhetoric, her ideological allegiance, her utter lack of compassion for those outside of it—what do you see?

Is it regret? Self-hatred? Pity, maybe? A correction of a shameful (stupid, even) mistake? A bizarre decision you struggle to imagine yourself—or anyone—making? A web of uncanny, discomfiting choices, written in flesh?

Maybe, if you’re trans yourself, you might also see your own fears. Not necessarily forced detransition—that wouldn’t make you like her. No, maybe you look at your past doubts and wonder if you could’ve been her, under different circumstances. Or maybe, it’s merely the thought of something that brought you great joy—your transition, the alteration of your body, your freedom—being broken, hated, turned inside-out. Like a shredded garment.

Perhaps you’re just unnerved to see it undone.

Detransition, in the eyes of the masses, is an undoing. That implies discontent, and since this discontent is over transition—something not only voluntary but often hard-won—it also implies that transition itself was a mistake. Seemingly, a preventable one.

And so there is only one conclusion: detransitioners must be prevented. I must be prevented. I am a stain on the medical, social, and queer establishments that have created me, whether you look at it from the Right or the Left. The ‘reverse’ dysphoria I feel is, by all accounts, utterly preventable. Naturally, then, we must attempt to prevent it.

The belief about detransitioners is that they need medical gatekeeping to prevent them from having transitioned—a more robust system of checks that would’ve helped them realise they were never trans. Or perhaps, that they need the topic of transness altogether excised from the zeitgeist. For instance, a known detrans grifter Maia Poet tweeted she is retrospectively grateful to her parents for having hyper-surveilled her after she came out as trans. She still socially transitioned and continued to identify as trans for twelve years afterwards, so it can’t have helped in the way she wanted, but she’s still grateful for, uh. Something. Whatever it is that was accomplished, which, it seems, was not a lot.

Well, no one was expecting cutting social commentary or lucid solutions from Ms. Israeli Sellout Poet, so never mind her. Let us put the grift aside.

That is the knee-jerk response, isn’t it? Make fun of the loud and stupid and obviously wrong ones?

That has its place, but let me assure you, detransitioners exist outside of TV and Twitter. Most are disinterested in sharing a pedestal with Maia or Chloe, regardless of what they believe. Let us even put myself aside as a singular subject. Let us examine what is normally either cynically weaponised by the Right, or else timidly swept under the rug. Because if you allow the idea that willing detransitioners truly exist—and they do, I assure you; if I turned my screen off, I’d be looking at one—then you must also allow the possibility of, well…

Transition regret.

Allow yourself compassion for a detransitioner—a random, regular person—that is staring at rock bottom and finding that their transition took them there. If I were them, I’d surely ask what could’ve been done to prevent that. What could’ve been done so that I never existed such as I am.

A very rock-bottom kind of question, I know. But the only way out is through.

So what is the most effective way to prevent detransition? What has been done to that end? How is transition handled, and what does that mean for detransition?

1. The Doctor Will See You Now

Over the past few months, I’ve spent a good chunk of my god-given procrastination allowance on scrolling online detrans communities that explicitly ban transphobia. You may call that biased, but I’ve found that detrans spaces which make no such explicit attempts are swiftly overrun by Gender Criticals. Not even detrans ones; the topic is hot-button and embarrassing enough to encourage unmitigated manipulation of the audience. It’s a bit like browsing spaces for discussion of cosmetic surgery. When an issue is too unseemly to be spoken of in polite society, the snake oil salesman can peddle whatever the hell he wants. By contrast, trans-positive detrans spaces tend to be smaller, less fraught, and more diverse in issues discussed and feelings expressed.

(To be clear, I will not quote anyone here. While their accounts were told neither in privacy nor in confidence, online messages in small communities carry a presumption of anonymity and non-disclosure, which I intend to maintain.)

Indeed, a sizeable number of even explicitly trans-positive detransitioners express some desire for a prior intervention. A therapist or psychiatrist that would’ve entertained alternatives, or questioned why their patient wanted to transition. It’s not uncommon, when queried by people unsure of surgery or HRT, for such detransitioners to advise waiting until total certainty is achieved. Unlike GCs, though, they often lament the lack of medical professionals that will neither attempt to do conversion therapy nor consider detransition an untouchable topic.

(As I’ve alluded to before, it is difficult enough in many places to find a therapist that even knows Trans 101. ‘Advanced stuff,’ like detransition, is beyond contemplation. It’s not that skilled-enough professionals don’t exist, but that there is no resource for finding them.)

There is a common denominator among such detrans people. They are often—though not always—young transitioners, having done so either in high school or shortly after. They’re usually from countries that have an informed consent model of transition care. Under this model, a doctor does not diagnose with gender dysphoria—or indeed anything at all—but merely provides assistance in alteration of sexual characteristics. That’s the idea, anyway; reality varies and often does not quite match that ideal, but by and large, the doctor’s job is then mainly to explain what the patient is signing up for. What intervention or investigation exists, if any, is minimal or perfunctory.

From a purely technical perspective, these detransitioners are asking for something that wasn’t this doctor’s job to do. But it is a fairly heartless argument to make. “Well, if your dysphoria wasn’t actually dysphoria, you should’ve gone to a therapist instead!”—rather silly, isn’t it? Easily refuted with: “If I knew then what was wrong with me, I wouldn’t be here.” And anyway, just because that is how the system works does not necessarily mean that is how it should work.

There is a wrinkle here, though. Informed consent may be the norm in, say, the USA—for now, anyway—but it is not worldwide. In most places you ought to receive a gender dysphoria (or transsexualism, if the updated DSM is yet to be adopted) diagnosis before access to medical transition is permitted. So how does the diagnostic model hold up when it comes to detransition?

2. Hoops and Hoops and Hoops

As I mentioned in my first essay, I am a young-ish transitioner from a country that very much does not practice informed consent. I started transitioning medically at 19, which is young for an adult transitioner but post-pubertal nonetheless. However, transitioning in adolescence would’ve been functionally impossible for me. Even if my parents were supportive and I somehow found a doctor to prescribe me blockers/hormones—the latter of which is monumentally unlikely, as it was illegal—it would still basically mean social death. So, in effect, I transitioned as young as was humanly possible.

The procedure to acquire legal access to hormone replacement therapy was pretty antiquated during my time. Internment in a psychiatric ward, a prior real-life test, the nine yards. (For the unaware, a ‘real-life test’ is a requirement to have lived as your desired gender for several years prior to any medical transition.) I was diagnosed rather thoroughly both for presence of gender dysphoria and an absence of alternative explanations, such as schizophrenia, BPD, autism, and, put colloquially, mummy or daddy issues—having a ‘broken family’ was a strike against the transsexualism diagnosis. Anxiety or depression was also a no-no. Under this particular model, literally any other condition is a contradiction to transsexualism. You are to be deeply distressed about your genitals and assigned gender stereotype, and absolutely nothing else at all.

Because yes, naturally the pathologisation of gender entails reliance on stereotype and archetype. What makes a man or a woman, after all? When the goal is to have transsexualism as the last possible resort, it’s not enough to merely wish for a different set of genitals or breasts or to describe oneself as a man or woman—gender must be dissected. And that dissection, inevitably, leads to ‘bitches be crazy.’ Man like car, woman like kitchen. Man fucks woman, subject verb object. Et cetera.

Of course, declaring any ‘irregular’ thoughts about gender to be the sole purview of a perfect and utterly healthy citizen, is just cruel. Gender conformity is a violently enforced social protocol. Therefore people that run up against it—trans or not—are highly likely to be made maladjusted. To deny them care on that basis alone is inhumane. If you are found too ‘wrong’ to be transsexual, you will then be told to go treat whatever is wrong with you—your symptom, not your cause. Gender will not be entertained.

Now, that the psychiatric treatment of gender dysphoria is inhumane, dated, and deliberately difficult and arcane, is not news. It is designed to prevent transition first and foremost and also secondly and thirdly, and only lastly to enable it. Some young people in the US may feel enough distance from such treatment as to not understand what it truly entails. To some it is buried history. Most, though, even when unaware of what such procedures are or were, understand they are/were bad. Nebulously bad or specifically bad (mostly the former), but bad nonetheless.

So here’s the first question: does this work? Does this ensure those that truly need transition can do it, and none that don’t, can’t?

I can obviously just point to myself and be done with it, but one person can be anything from an anomaly to a fun fact, just not a tendency. So let’s work through this.

Obviously such procedures do not prevent all transition. Do they reduce the number of transitioners? It is impossible to count for sure, but certainly such procedures generally exist in societies that are not amenable to trans people, and therefore some plainly do not survive long enough to try. It does not matter whether they would’ve eventually detransitioned or not; severe psychiatric procedure does not coexist with widely available, comprehensive therapy. It does not matter because no one will ever find out.

What of those that do survive, though? One extreme conclusion to make is, if you can survive without something, you do not need it. I’m not particularly interested in a survival-only existence as I do not live in a cave and hunt mammoth. (And even prehistoric people made jewellery and painted cave walls with art, so clearly they cared about things beyond sheer necessity, too.) So that aside, how do the lives of those that actually engage with the procedure pan out?

Naturally, one of the results of such procedures is the delaying of access. Some things, like hormones, you can get on the sly, but surgeries you simply cannot receive without either the doctor’s permission or a great—and I do mean great—deal of money. The procedure is designed to take several years before any access can be granted at all, assuming you go through it swiftly and successfully. The more stringent the procedure, the fewer doctors can do it; a degree of waiting is involved even before it begins. In my country’s case in particular, transition is fully paid for by the patient—there is neither state nor insurance coverage, at all, for anything. Even doctor visits in government-sponsored institutions are de facto paid because you need to grease some palms for someone to bother. No, there’s no suing the doctor that won’t treat you without the agreed-upon bribe; you can’t afford it and you won’t win. Therefore there’s also risk of further depression and suicide as great financial burden falls on people that, as a rule, have below-average funds, poor employability, and no family support. But assuming you soldier through, the overall result is a transition timeline that spans about a decade or two. The bulk of social transition will happen in the first five years, whereas surgical interventions, due to cost and laborious approval processes, fall on the last years.

This can be seen as a boon to detransitioners. Delay in access means more time to change your mind, hypothetically. The fact that surgeries are generally impossible until many years in transition means—hypothetically—there’s less chance you’ll end up with changes that cannot be reversed or amended without further surgical intervention, or at all.

As I’ve mentioned in my previous essay, I do believe such calculus to be heavily hindsight-skewed, favouring present lack of regret and dysphoria over past misery and the humiliation of the psychiatric grinder. It’s a little like getting hit with a hammer to the head and then falling madly in love with the doctor treating you. Sure, in hindsight it softens the blow of the head trauma, but you still wouldn’t recommend anyone walk around with a sticker on their back saying ‘Hit Me.’

I can understand, however, how a detrans person who never went through any of that, now deep in dysphoria blues, could find such an argument empty air. Infuriating, even. Perhaps they’d even say they’d gladly be a bit miserable for a couple years so long as they didn’t have to deal with all this now. Grass, greener, et cetera. So let us say this really is a possible advantage of the procedure—

If it actually makes you less likely to go through with transition once you begin the procedure and uncover doubts creeping in.

Does it?

3. A Patient Is A Person

There’s an elephant in the room, though not many notice it. To a cis person it may well be invisible. You might’ve spotted it when I first flippantly described the procedure I went through and mentioned a real-life test. Most people cannot be reliably and consistently integrated into society as the ‘opposite’ gender until they have some kind of physical intervention. Especially not in places that are highly transphobic, where being visibly trans is either not an option or a very dangerous one. But clearly, people do pass this ‘real-life test’ somehow. Is it really only the most androgynous among us that are allowed to transition under such procedure?

Well, no. Although doctors will be more charitable if you already seem like a ‘lost cause’ to your birth sex. Nothing wasted and so on. But like I said, you can always get hormones on the sly. It’s not even hard or prohibitively expensive.

That’s not the only issue with the procedure. How do you reconcile putting all this time and money into a (marginalised) diagnosis with (often precarious) employment? Why are trans patients supposed to have a singular script for their lives and genders, whereas cis people are permitted variance?

In the end, how do you prove to someone else that transition is right for you? Is it really all the silly quizzes and the identically heart-wrenching stories? Eh. Not exactly. In my experience, the doctor makes half their mind up the moment they look at you. And most every patient seems like a regular cis person—a fertile woman, a boy that can be made a man—and so the knee-jerk response is to help you stay that way, no matter how you feel. So there are two options: memorise a rote script of suffering and hope for the best, or, much more reliably and painlessly—

Already look like a transsexual.

Put plainly, the current diagnostic model of transition only works when you’re already transitioning. To access transition you must’ve already done so. Yes, we all simply pretend. Yes, people just memorise whether they’re supposed to like cars or kitchens and how they should describe their sex lives. Of course they do. People seeking transition are human.

You can wag your finger however much you want and insist that people must follow protocol, and whatever happens as a result of disobedience is their own damn fault. The empirical fact is, protocol as written is un-follow-able. Because it is un-follow-able, no one actually follows it.

The result of a system whose first and foremost purpose is to make as few people transition as possible, is very simple: everyone lies. No one trusts doctors. No one in their right mind would go to a doctor that controls their legal gender marker based on the patient’s tales of masturbation, and then bare their true gender feelings with an expectation of help. Even the doctors themselves do not care how you really feel or whether you’re lying. They know the system is faulty, they know none of this is human or nice, but they also don’t understand why anyone would transition and they don’t care to. They have a hundred more patients, a thousand more protocols that are also neither human nor nice. This is psychiatry, and you are an annoying and rare brand of crazy, one that’s both utterly perverse and—they know—not actually crazy, not hallucinating or threatening suicide (and if you do: you can’t, remember?). What you’re doing is wasting a bed and their time. So all they want is their bribe, maybe a dissertation subject, and for you to cooperate and be gone.

What actually decides access to transition? A little bit of luck, a little bit of social acceptance in one’s immediate social circles, but chief among all: money.

If we must prevent the possibility of detransition at all cost, surely financial disincentive still works? Not the way you’d want it to. The only thing cost barriers ensure is that the rich can do whatever they want on a whim, and the poor can’t have even that which they desperately need. That is the only social balance money can buy.

And what decides eventual detransition?

The truth is, at least for me, it wasn’t regret. I’ve lived a long while in trans circles shaped by such transmedicalism. And if I’ve learned one thing, it’s this:

Transition regret was everywhere.

It is not at all unique to detransitioners. Certainly wasn’t in my circles. Many trans people who were also my contemporaries and fellow countrypersons had something or other they regretted about their transition. Some had even found the whole process extremely traumatic. They regretted not allowing themselves any femininity/masculinity that ‘contravened’ their desired gender. They got haircuts, clothes, friends, surgeries—anything related to gender, which is everything—only and solely because of the need to transition under very strict guidelines. Sometimes consciously, sometimes not. We lie to the doctors, yes, but that does not mean we are untouched by the transition procedure at our heart. The procedure is long and complex, and thus at a certain point, it occupies a lot of your attention and time. You live and breathe the sex questionnaires and psych visits whether you want to or not. And, as I’ve established, no one in the whole hospital cares how you truly feel about your gender—so for a while, you may stop caring too. It’s a matter of survival. Not just in the sense of access to transition, but in the very banal calculus of things that will and won’t get you beat up in an alley. At some point it’s only human to mentally check out.

In other words, everyone was fucking miserable. Trans, detrans—everyone.

People transition because they want to. Because everyone wishes to be an architect of their own fate and body, insofar as they can, and for some that involves choosing which way their body grows and ages. How it occupies the mould of sex. And when barriers are put between you and your agency, what follows is not obedience. You are human; you are not an algorithmic machine; you do not simply obey, you choose. So what do most people choose when they want something very badly and are told they cannot have it? They resist, of course. Resist, lie, scheme. And resistance to stringent protocol takes a lot out of you.

If doubt starts whispering in your head and you’re not listening, will you even hear it?

Put plainly, there’s no space for gender feelings in survival mode. What the diagnostic procedure causes is precisely that. It does not matter whether one’s need to transition is caused by some sort of True Transsexualism or trauma or misogyny or self-delusion or a secret millionth thing. You want it, and there’s no resource, no space, and no help for you to dissect that need. No time, either, because everything costs years—be it in money, in waiting, or your own life. You have an acute need and a difficult path to it. That is all.

And when all is said and done, and now you want to detransition? You’ve spent years to transition in the first place. You’ve invested great effort and great money, even if you’re not yet ‘done.’ You’ve likely lost family members and friends. Sunk cost is a hell of a weight, and sunk cost is precisely what the diagnostic model—a prevention model—engineers in spades.

4. A Dream of Utopia

So the informed consent model has no oversight, and the diagnostic model is a horrible grinder. Informed consent seems to be the patented harm reduction choice of the two. But surely those are not the only things that can exist? Surely we can dream of more than just ‘less harm’? Can there not be some sort of prior screening by an actually humane doctor who understands both trans and detrans needs? No quizzes about masturbation or kitchens or cars or whether you demanded to be called ‘boy’ or ‘girl’ at age four—just a robust way to determine whether you actually have gender dysphoria or not?

Let us say it is possible. When detrans people ask for qualified, humane, non-transphobic aid in helping them through their feelings on sex/gender, they are not asking for the impossible. Their need is one that must be answered in a just and caring world; it is already being answered for trans people, so why should the detrans be any different? And from there, you might think, it follows that it’s possible to attempt a system whose aim is some reasonably brief and minimally invasive pre-screening, which would filter out would-be detransitioners and enable trans people to pursue their transitions.

It is possible to attempt that. But.

All systems of restriction and access have a problem: there’s a power dynamic at play. Transition is often a pretty acute need. Doctors can make mistakes, they’re only human. Who is to decide what is real gender dysphoria? What if the doctors are not so humane? What if they enjoy holding power more than they enjoy helping? ‘Just don’t hire them’ isn’t really an answer—if we knew how ‘not to hire bad people,’ we’d have already colonised Pluto.

That doesn’t mean no system of restriction has its place. Access to weapons has similar problems, but most people would agree it’s probably not right for them to know nuclear codes anyway. Obviously no one worth listening to would compare detransition to guns or nukes, but let’s say, for the sake of the argument, that the possibility of detransition is so utterly undesirable that, if a prevention system could exist, it must.

The question remains: what makes gender dysphoria real?

The answer is very simple. Ultimately, it will always only be real because you said so. Because the patient said so—not the doctor.

If you’re a medical professional, you know how much of your diagnostic work relies on patient testimony. How you must at times cajole them into being honest, or to decode what exactly ‘bubbling pain in the liver’ means. Those unfamiliar with the medical world often imagine there’s always some kind of screening that can determine with certainty if the patient is lying or misguided or unsure. And yes, even if John insists he never put that Christmas ornament up his arse, the X-Ray will show it one way or another. But in many cases, it’s not that simple, and patient testimony is crucial.

When it comes to psychology and psychiatry, this issue could not be more acute. Often there is nothing else to go on at all. That doesn’t mean therapists are just useless soundboxes—but neither are there Top 10 Signs My Patient Is Actually A Narcissist. Nor are there actually body language experts that will totally tell you you’re being delusional; peddlers of simple and exact solutions are, as a rule, charlatans.

In short, therapists and psychiatrists are not mind readers. They are only analysing what you are saying about your own mind, and what you’re doing about it. They can aid you in interpreting yourself, but at the end of the day, you’re still the one doing it.

And here’s the kicker: no single issue faced by detransitioners is something trans people do not experience. Some detrans people first transition as a form of self-harm after sexual assault; but childhood sexual trauma is common among trans people who are happy in their transitions, too. Many detrans women felt pushed out of their gender by internalised misogyny and the impossibility of envisioning happy lives as women; but all those that are brought up or grow up as girls experience misogyny, including trans men and trans women. Detrans people often cite only wanting to transition after they learn of the possibility of transition and not from early childhood, as if that is evidence—but many trans people do not seek transition until they learn of its existence, too.

Trans people doubt their transitions all the time. Feel unhappy with their transitions, at least sometimes. And they self-harm via detransition too—a lot. The idea that none of this happens, or only happens very rarely, is a fiction recited for the sake of self-defence and attaining civil rights in a hostile world. Spending any time in trans spaces will tell you the truth is much more nuanced. And even so, even still, only some of those people detransition. And only some of those do so completely of their own free will, and not out of despair or a successful right-wing pipeline.

For every seemingly telltale sign of future detransition, there are numerous counterexamples. In fact a trans person can have all those signs at once, and nonetheless remain trans. Diagnostic criteria for a condition requires a list of symptoms, and if no number of those can be definitive? That means there can be no diagnosis. No (medical) condition.

In other words, resources, attention, and qualified aid can all accommodate detrans people exactly as it does trans people. Procedure cannot. Just like it can’t satisfactorily accommodate trans people. It is a dead end to treat the matter of gender as if it is a disorder, an ailment of the individual, rather than an exercise of agency against a society which enforces sex/gender.

Additionally, I have so far spoken in extremes. Real and not-real trans people; detransitioners that utterly regret their transition and wish it never happened. It was necessary for the argument. But many detransitioners do not have such black-and-white feelings about their past. Some are nonbinary and unhappy with either ‘man’ or ‘woman’; some do not maintain that their gender dysphoria wasn’t actually real; some even reject the label ‘detrans’ on principle, even though they have verifiably detransitioned. I have not mentioned any such case because I wished to argue that even the most ‘textbook,’ most acutely regretful case of detransition has little to gain and much to lose in a gatekeeping-first transition system. However, I must also point out that the ‘textbook case’ is the only case that can envision any gain at all. It isn’t real, but it’s a lovely mirage. To the rest of us, there isn’t even that.

5. I Have Bad News—Or Do I?

Yes, what I am saying is that detransition is inevitable. I’m saying its negatives can be curtailed by therapeutic and medical care that accommodates for detrans people—as much is true for trans people—but, regardless of how preventable detransition may seem, there is no way to simply solve it. Detransition can only be vanished by going back in time and making medicine freeze at the turn of the twentieth century, before such things as exogenous hormones were invented. Even a full ban on transition would be just a costly inconvenience, but ultimately not a magic bullet. People do banned things because they want to all the damn time. Oh, and I guess we’d also have to sterilise every single female horse.

So does that mean detransitioners are necessary collateral damage?

Only if you think detransition is inherently, inevitably, invariably undesirable and bad.

When you discover you want to detransition, it can be hard to accept for a myriad of reasons. Sunk cost, fear of ostracisation, shame, or even because you have no idea what detransition can look like and you don’t know what to do. And then there’s dysphoria and dealing with the wider society’s disgust and I-told-you-so’s. Some amount of what one might call a ‘bad time’ is unavoidable.

But why? What makes wanting to detransition—not resigning to it; wanting it—bad? What makes it socially reviled and pitiable? What makes going through it feel so difficult? How is the shame of detransition engineered—and what for?

See you in Part 2.

[britt-kageryuu]

A video is uploaded onto the VTurtles! Clips Channel. 💜🐉🐲

----------------

It opens with an animated version of Purple Wyverns' model (Kendra).

"So, I was a bit bored after finishing up some projects so I went through a number of VODs to look for the various Cups and Mugs the Turtles use on stream." Kendra explains while showing a picture of a Tumbler that reads 'With a Great Workload, Comes a Great Amount of Coffee!'. "I actually asked Dee about this, they don't really own hundreds of cups, just alot of temporary graphics, put onto a few different styles of cup."

"Anyway, this is a compilation of clips featuring some of the more interesting one I found!"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Donnie and Leo are playing a game, and Donnie pauses to drink from a cup that reads 'Blood of My Enemies!'.

Leo looks at the cup, "How is that filled with the blood of your enemies, when the drink is green?"

Donnie without missing a beat answers, "Aliens. Keep up Blue. Besides yours says 'Hater Tears'!"

××××××××××××

Leo is casually taking a sip from a cup that reads, 'You better Be-Leaf, I'm Feeling Tea-rrific!', "Gotta love that Stealthily Strawberry blend. Yes, I will plug our personal Coffee and Tea Company the Caffeinated Turtle. Yes I will act like a sellout."

+++++++++++

The boys are all together doing some exercises, and in the foreground close to the camera is 4 color-coded cups each with a anime style character. They resemble Waifu Cups.

Red has Star/Mona Lisa, Blue has Usagi, Orange has a version of Spider-man, and Purple has Atomic Lass.

÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷

Mikey is doing some street art on a large canvas. On the canvas is what looks like Spider-Man but he has paint splattered pants, and jacket. And there's letter art that reads Painted Spider.

He steps back to take off his custom respirator mask, to take a drink from a tumbler labeled 'Definitely Not The Paint Water!' that has a fake paintbrush glued to the rim.

===========

Raph walks through the frame behind Donnie taking a drink from a very large bottle that has 'Pre-Workout Hydration!' written on it.

Donnie doesn't notice, but there are some confused messages in the chat.

<><><><><><>

Leo and Donnie are in sync drinking from cups that read, Leo: I got the Beauty, Donnie: I got the Brains.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Donnie is chatting about the coffee blend he was testing, and lifts a mug that reads 'My Body is 87% Coffee', "We think this blend might be too close to a unsafe level of caffeine, but that's why the placeholder name is 'A Cup with Death'."

____________

A Clip from a Merch promotion that featured some Cups with different graphics.

1: 'Hydrate Like A Boss', 2: 'I Will Bite Before, and After My First Cup' , 3: A Cartoon Slider drinking from a Japanese Tea Mug, and 4: A Cartoon Box Turtle holding a paintbrush and the cup is splattered with paint.

**************

Leo is chatting to the audience while holding a mug that says 'Hot Soup!' with a cartoon Lou Jitsu. "And then he said 'When will you give me Grandchildren?' Like Pops, we haven't gotten passed 2nd Base!"

--------------

Masterpost

Not the most original idea, but I thought it was funny.

[wasawattpadkid]

this might not make sense but I absolutely love your billy and Stu playlist. Could you maybe write a couple headcannons on which songs they like and why? You could include the reader or not it's up to you thanks Maddy!❤️‍🔥

I think I get what you're asking. I hope you like it!💕

Billy's playlist

Stu's playlist

Billy

1.) 1979 by The Smashing Pumpkins

This is Billy's favorite song I don't make the rules. Smashing Pumpkins is one of his favorite bands. The song reminds him of a time he was happy. He listens to music like it'd play in a movie about his life. This would play while a montage of him and Stu flickered on the silver screen.

2.) The Killing Moon by Echo & the Bunny Men

This song always finds its way onto his mixtapes. It makes him think of how love can happen to anyone even if they pray it doesn't. He equates love with death just because you have no control over when and where it happens.

3.) A Day In The Life by The Beatles

A Beatles song amidst alternative rock is definitely a little jarring. Billy actually enjoys the Beatles. It was his mother's favorite band. He grew up listening to the Sgt Peppers album on repeat. She'd sing song after song to him trying to get him to sleep. This song reminds him of simpler times.

4.) How Soon Is Now? by The Smiths

Billy's a Smiths fan. He puts music on just to brood over his life. The man thinks he has better music taste than everyone else he knows. Stu likes to make fun of Billy's music taste. "Damn does that shit come with razor blades?"

5.) Mama I'm Coming Home by Ozzy Osbourne

Mommy issues. Likes to play music he knows that'll make him cry. He thinks if he makes himself cry in private he'll be less likely to accidentally cry around anyone.

6.) It's The End Of The World As We Know It by R.E.M

Stu knows all the words to We Didn't Start The Fire by Billy Joel. Billy thinks he's a dork because of this. Yet in the privacy of his car, he will sing every single word of this song.

7.) Every Breath You Take by The Police

Told a girl he related to this song on a first date. He's still not sure why she stopped talking to him. Billy still thinks it's a romantic song.

8.) Goodbye Horses by Q Lazzarus

Only knows the song because of Silence of the Lambs. Will start dancing to this song if he's been drinking.

9.) Flesh For Fantasy by Billy Idol

Remember how I said he thinks about where a song would fit in a movie about his life? This would play while he's kissing down your chest. His movie wouldn't have a full sex scene he's not a sellout. More like a montage of kissing and soft moans. It would be frustrating to watch for people like me and you.

10.) A Girl Like You by Edwyn Collins

Without wasting words he'd play you this song hoping you'd understand how he felt about you. Billy was odd like that. He obsessed over lyrics and a song's meaning. When he realized he had a crush on you he immediately started making a list of songs that reminded him of you. They could put his emotions into words when he couldn't.

Stu

1.) In The Meantime by Spacehog

Stu loves music. He doesn't care about lyrics although they can make a song better. If he likes instruments he'll buy the album. Will buy a whole album for one song. This is one example. Stu doesn't like what he calls "sad bastard music." You will rarely catch him listening to music he knows will bum him out.

2.) Blood Makes Noise by Suzanne Vega

This song itches his brain every time he listens to it. Stu is odd. He likes rock but if there's too much going on it freaks him out. Not one for screamo makes him feel like he's being yelled at. This song is on his sex playlist do what you will with that information.

3.) Smells Like Teen Spirit by Nirvana

Nirvana fan first human second. He has a crush on Kurt Cobain. Hates Cortney Love like she's Yoko Ono. Stu likes to learn about bands and artists' personal lives. He's nosey. "Can you believe that shit? I'd treat them so much better." Stu would rant to his friend about a random celebrity making Billy want to drink Draino.

4.) Paradise By the Dashboard Light by Meatloaf

He thinks the song is hilarious. Will perform the 8-minute-long song at karaoke. There will be an empty room once he's done. He doesn't regret his actions.

5.) A.D.I.D.A.S by Korn

It was your fault. You picked out the movie Say Anything and made him watch it. You woke up at 3 in the morning to Stu loudly blasting this song outside of your house. Not only was it funny it was romantic to him. Cops were called.

6.) I Was Made For Lovin' You by KISS

This is one of Stu's favorite songs. When he was little he was obsessed with KISS. He'd put on a full face of face paint and he'd stain his tongue and hands with red food coloring. The boy would run around the house singing and dancing. To his parents, however, Stu's unserious habit of playing with makeup wasn't something they were proud of. His music taste is all over the place because he constantly went through different phases trying to figure out what he could do to please his parents. Nothing ever did.

7.) Peaches by The Presidents of the United States

If you write a song that sounds good and had some goofy ass lyrics Stu's sold. Stu will sing this every time the school lunch consists of peaches. Billy has thrown several trying to get his friend to shut up.

8.) Iron Man by Black Sabbath

Stu loves to stir up shit and have arguments. He was actually on the debate team for his freshman and sophomore years of high school. Billy thinks Ozzy Osbourne is better alone than with Black Sabbath. Every time this is brought up Stu acts like a little piece of him dies. Plus when this song comes on the radio Stu likes to cover his mouth imitating the voice at the beginning. It's where they got the whole ghostface voice idea from.

9.) Fight For Your Right by Bestie Boys

Stu is a huge fan of The Beastie Boys. Their first record is a go-to when there's a party at his is. Of course, this is his favorite song of theirs. The amount of times that man has bounced around an empty house blasting that band is almost worrying.

10.) Psycho Killer by The Talking Heads.

Best for last. If Stu had a theme song this would be it. In his movie, it'd play as he's running around as Ghostface. He has a lot of energy so he loves to chase people. Randy called him an "evil golden retriever" once and Stu likes the comparison.

[wonderfulworldofmichaelford]

Michael in the Mainstream: Top 100 Movies #100 - #76

For the longest time I've wanted to do something like this, but I never could find the right time to do it. It just seemed so daunting, and the website's image limit was a hindrance, and then my computer died and my wife's computer was all I could use... and then I went on my hiatus from doing major reviews. But I found some time, so here we go.

These are my hundred favorite films ever made, divided into fourths so each one can get an image and I can devote more time to gushing about them if I want to without feeling like I'm dragging things out.

Speaking if dragging things out, let us waste no more time! We have a hundred movies to go, so let's knock out the botom quarter!

100. Us

Jordan Peele’s sophomore effort gets a lot of shit that I feel is mostly undeserved. Sure, some of the over explaining at the climax is a bit clunky when taken at face value, but it almost feels like it’s by design, as if the movie is daring you to nitpick the premise so that you can ignore the message it’s trying to convey. For me, I find that the stellar themes, fantastic acting, and godly soundtrack manage to make up for any of this movie’s flaws.

99. Crimson Peak

Murder! Mystery! Ghosts! Incest! Leave it to Guillermo del Toro to craft a Gothic horror film this stylish and impressive! This might just be my favorite of his films, and I definitely think it is severely overlooked compared to the rest of his output.

98. Mandy

Nicolas Cage is one of my favorite actors of all time, because when he goes crazy it’s always fun, and when he’s dramatic he genuinely kills it. This film lets him do both,with the first half being a slow burn dramatic romance that ends in horrific tragedy, and the back half having him do demon drugs and get into a chainsaw duel while he murders an entire cult. Truly a beautifully insane film.

97. Scream

The film that both revitalized and ruined the slasher genre, with winking nods to the tropes that made those films what they are while also playing things just straight enough to be appealing. Only a genre master like Wes Craven could pull off a pitch-perfect satire like this, though none of it would be near as good if it didn’t have a great cast who were firing on all cylinders. Young Neve Campbell before she became a sellout, Matthew Lillard cementing his place in horror history, David Arquette and Courtney Cox in their prime, and Roger “Mojo Jojo” Jackson playing the iconic voice of Ghostface… They’re as crucial to this movie’s success as the meta winks and impressive kills are.

96. Jojo Rabbit

Taika Waititi made one bad superhero movie and then everyone turned on him as if he didn’t make the film that proves you absolutely could make Blazing Saddles in this day and age. While it’s neither as gut-bustingly funny nor as profane as Mel Brooks’ magnum opus, it’s still a very fun, funny, and heartbreaking satirization of Nazism. I think he’s allowed to make one Love and Thunder when he made something this good.

95. Akira

The movie with the coolest bike slide in cinematic history, and this is indisputable because every single movie and show with motorcycles in it borrowed that cool bike slide. This film does show its age a bit, but it’s still an awesome sci-fi showcase of animated action and body horror. Plus it’s just a lot of fun seeing Tetsuo and Kaneda spend at least half of their dialogue dramatically screaming each other’s names.

94. 300

I make fun of Zack Snyder a lot, but I do it out of love; the dude who made 300 has gotta be capable of doing better than his recent output, after all. Stylish, slick action and slow-mo put to good use showing an army of nearly naked macho men cutting down hordes of nasty bad guys… The fact I watched this movie so much as a teenager should’ve been the first hint I was bisexual.

93. Spider-Man: No Way Home

People are really fucking hard on the MCU Spidey, and not without reason, but sometimes it really comes off as disingenuous. Look at this film, for instance; it has gotten some flak for just being a cheap nostalgia circlejerk that uses cameos so you can clap and cheer and ignore the ‘plot holes.’ I cannot imagine being that miserable of a movie watcher. To me, this film is a tribute to the cinematic Spideys that came before while giving them some degree of closure that I never thought I’d see, while simultaneously bringing Holland’s take on the character closer to where he should be. It’s also really hard to hate a movie where Willem Dafoe gets to go Goblin Mode again and power bomb Tom Holland through several floors of an apartment, cementing him as comic book movie villain royalty once and for all. Are there cheesy moments, moments where things don’t make the most sense? Sure. But to focus on those bits instead of the core themes and how the characters are used is an awful way t do film criticism. The returning heroes and most of the returning villains are used very effectively to tell the story they wanted to tell, and most importantly they don’t overshadow Tom and his friends. The fact he stands toe-to-toe with Tobey Maguire and Andrew Garfield is nothing short of amazing, spectacular even.

92. The Lost Boys

Joel Schumacher died with one of the most unfairly earned infamous reputations around. Man made one campy superhero movie where you can see George Clooney’s nips and hear Arnold Schwarzenegger make ice puns and suddenly everyone forgets he made one of the greatest and most homoerotic vampire films ever made. While the stuff with the kids is very hit or miss, the stuff with David and his vampire biker gang is awesome, and the climax is one hell of a good time.

91. Barbie

Want to introduce your kids to feminist concepts but really don’t think they’re ready for Poor Things? Greta Gerwig has got you covered, with this pink-hued intro to feminism that uses the world’s most popular doll in a meta-narrative about her impact as well as what it means to be a woman and how the patriarchy is detrimental to both men and women. Margot Robbie gives a great performance as the titular heroine, but it is Ryan Gosling as the well-meaning idiot turned antagonist Ken that steals the show. It helps that he sings one of the most incredible, sincere power ballads ever written.

90. Street Fighter

As a connoisseur of cheesy, “so bad it’s good” films, quite a few of them have made my top 100. Here’s the first of those, this goofy Saturday morning cartoon of a film where the most American character ever (Guile) is played by the least American guy imaginable (Jean-Claude Van Damme). While it undeniably fumbles a lot of the cast of the game it’s adapting, Chun-Li and especially M. Bison are done so well it’s hard to be too mad. It’s a fun, stupid, silly 90s action film and sometimes that’s all I need.

89. Knives Out

After polarizing sci-fi audiences with his Star Wars film, Rian Johnson subverted our expectations by delivering a whodunnit for the ages. After seeing them restrained by blockbuster franchises for the better part of a decade, seeing Daniel Craig and Chris Evans really let loose again is a real treat.

88. Everything Everywhere All at Once

Twitter tries to convince me every other week that this movie is dogshit, but I ain’t buying it. This is one of the best uses of the multiverse in recent memory, using it to tell a stylish, silly, and heartfelt story about family and trauma. The entire cast is amazing, but it’s Ke Huy Quan in his big return to the silver screen that really steals the show.

87. The Texas Chain Saw Massacre

My favorite thing about this movie, this proto-slasher, is just how fucking unclean it makes me feel. It’s not overly violent or gory, but it is genuinely grimy and unsettling in a way few other horror films can match. The dinner scene near the end in particular is just so fucking unnerving. Just truly unmatched atmosphere with this movie.

86. Spaceballs

While I’m not going to argue that this is a better film than Blazing Saddles, I still enjoy it a lot more since I’m a bigger fan of Star Wars and sci-fi than I am of Westerns. It’s just a damn funny parody, and hoe can it not when it has some of the funniest people to ever live (Mel Brooks, Joan Rivers, Rick Moranis, John Candy) and a great heroic lead performance from Bill Pullman all delivering some of the silliest lines ever written?

85. RRR

This is basically live action historical fiction anime. These characters pull off some of the most insane feats of action I have ever seen, action that makes the average American action film look like Peppa Pig. But I would not give a shit if there wasn’t a strong emotional core; the two leads have a brotherly bond unlike anything I’ve ever, and it makes the action that much sweeter. Frankly, this movie would make the list just for the final battle alone, since it might be my favorite action scene of all time.

84. Strange Magic

This movie holds a very special place in my heart. I went to see this with my wife back when we first started dating, and at the time I was filled with anxiety and insecurity, worried that I wasn’t good enough and didn’t deserve a relationship among other things. I sat down to watch this, and when it got to the titular song, something clicked, and I felt secure. I felt like our relationship was the right thing, and all these years later it’s hard to deny I was right. So thank you to this cheesy jukebox musical inspired by Shakespeare and George Lucas’ desire to make a film for little girls. They will never convince me you’re a bad movie.

83. Princess Mononoke

Maybe Miyazaki’s Spirited Away is objectively better, but this is my favorite. I think it’s because this one is a lot more excitin and action-packed, with all sorts of thrilling setpieces interspersed with the quieter dramatic moments Miyazaki excels at.

82. Jurassic Park

One of Spielberg’s greatest achievements is bringing dinosaurs to life on the big screen. No matter how many times I sit down to watch this, I still feel the same awe the characters do when they lay their eyes on the dinosaurs—which really highlights how good the cast is, because they’re amazingly convincing even when they’re looking at dated 90s CGI.

81. Labyrinth

It’s David Bowie starring as the villain in a musical filled with puppets that’s directed by Jim Henson. How the fuck is it possible to not love this movie?

80. V for Vendetta

Yes, this does dumb down the politics of Alan Moore’s comic significantly and turns the story into a much more straightforward plot. But what it lacks in depth, it makes up for with Hugo Weaving and pyrotechnics. And it’s not like there’s no depth here; crucially, this film keeps the entirety of the prisoner’s letter sequence. If that was left out, I would not have liked this movie at all.

79. Wreck-It Ralph

It’s amazing how much Disney got right here that it would go on to get wrong over the next decade. We have a hidden twist villain, something that hampered later films… but he’s shown to be a dick, with the villain reveal being how evil he is. It’s a big crossover of nostalgic properties… but they’re more used as seasoning for a story about original characters. It’s just astonishing how Disney would end up dropping the ball, even in this film’s sequel, when they got everything right the first time.

78. Sin City

What’s black and white and red all over? This bloody brilliant adaptation of Frank Miller’s sleazy comics (and one of the last genuinely good things with his name attached to it). The visual style here is the real big selling point; it genuinely looks like the pages of a comic come to life. While the movie as a whole is fantastic and “The Big Fat Kill” segment is still really, “The Hard Goodbye” and “That Yellow Bastard” are the real highlights, the former because of a career highlight performance from Mickey Rourke and a terrifying villain turn from Elijah Wood of all people, the latter because of one of Bruce Willis’ finest performances of the 2000s and excellent use of slight splashes of color (yellow for the titular bastard).

77. Batman & Robin

As long as I live, this movie will have at least one defender. Joel Schumacher created a silly, campy comic book movie for the ages, and maybe back in the day people weren’t read for it… but I was. I love the ice puns, the nipples, the bat credit card, all of it! All of its silly, stupid corniness makes this as memorable as it is! It’s like the West show with a gigantic budget.

76. The Rocky Horror Picture Show

And speaking of camp, here is the cult classic. We can argue all day and all night whether this film has aged badly, but this was a huge step forward for queer cinema on top of being a damn good musical. If nothing else, this movie helped rocket Tim Curry into the stratosphere and made him the star we know him as.

[mariacallous]

In the late 1990s and early 2000s Christopher Hitchens was the most famous journalist in the English-speaking world. I loved him and was proud to count him as a friend. Yet after his death, it is hard to know what to make of his writing. You can gasp at his learning and his style – he loved the English language and it loved him back. But as a source of inspiration? History has not, apparently, been kind to Hitch.

For readers to know where they stand, writers must be consistent. George Orwell, whom Christopher idolised, was a revolutionary socialist in the 1930s when he served with the POUM militia in the Spanish civil war. He had moderated to become a supporter of the Labour party by the time he wrote Animal Farm and 1984 in the 1940s.But he remained a left-winger. An English nationalist version of a left-winger, to be sure, but a man of the left nevertheless.

By contrast, Hitch was all over the place. In his youth he was a Marxist revolutionary, in theory at any rate. He was a comrade of Perry Anderson, Tariq Ali and other upper-class Marxists who gathered around Verso Books and the New Left Review.  He clearly believed in his version of Trotskyist socialism, but remained the strangest Marxist I have met. He had no interest in the economics of socialism. Instead, he was in love with the anti-Stalinist dissident tradition in communism that Leon Trotsky exemplified, and the Soviet state persecuted. Like so many of the 1968 generation it never seemed to occur to him that Trotsky would have been as terrible a dictator as Stalin if he had ever taken power.

In the 1990s he abandoned socialism and reconciled himself with the neoliberal order, as so many did. After 9/11, he became a neo-conservative and was convinced that radical Islam was the gravest threat to the West. His former comrades on the far left, who were themselves taking up the Islamist agenda, denounced him as an apostate.  The venom was extraordinary even by the standards of the far left. After his premature death at the age of just 62 in December 2011, his publishers Verso published a book-length attack on its own writer. As I said at the time, “the publishing house has done something I have not seen since the passing of communism: denounced its dead author for his ideological deviations.”

But with the advantage of hindsight, the people who had the most right to shrug their shoulders and forget Christopher were standard supporters of moderate left-wing politics. As I have been guilty of Christopher’s faults myself, let me spell them out.

For the Marxist half of his life Christopher was denouncing the Labour party in the UK and the Democrats in the US as sellouts. Once Labour is back in power you will see hundreds of imitators on the UK left, who will never match Christopher’s range and gusto, do the same. Like me, Hitchens was from an English journalistic culture, which is rarely comfortable with the Labour party.  The Guardian’s politics vary from liberal to post-communist, but the paper has few authentic Labour voices. It’s hardly alone in that. Not one highbrow publication, not the New Statesman or the London Review of Books, is authentically Labour. If a foreigner were to arrive and ask to be shown the UK paper that reflects Labour thinking, you would be hard pressed to offer one.

In the US, Hitchens’ most famous polemic was a dissection of the Democrat president Bill Clinton, which earned him many friends on the right. He hated Hilary Clinton with a passion and was never happier than when exposing the hypocrisies of progressives.

So what, you might say, writers must call it the way they see it, and progressive hypocrisy provides an endless source of material.

But then Christopher turned on his head and became a neo-conservative and attacked the moderate centre-left with the same venom from the right. Once again, he was saying what he believed, as all writers must. But look at Hitchens work from the point of view of the people defending moderate leftish policies in the Democrats or Labour. One minute he’s attacking the centre-left from the far-left, the next from the neo-conservative right. His position changes, his dislike of the centre-left remains.

The problem for anyone trying to assess his work in our age is not only keeping up with his U-turns. It ought to be perfectly clear that the boring centre left he despised all his life is the last best hope of Anglo-Saxon democracies. The Republican party under Trump is a threat to the American republic. Only the Democrats can save it. Meanwhile, I dare anyone to deny that the Conservative party has destroyed the UK with austerity, Brexit and Truss, and that a moderate Labour party offers our only conceivable redemption.

We have learned the hard way that our most urgent task is defensive. We need to embrace any compromise for the greater good of keeping conservatives from power. And Christopher despised compromise.

Christopher died in 2011, and could not have predicted the world of Trump and Brexit. Yet you can make the case that he offers little help to those of us trying to resist it.

Matt Yglesias said on Twitter that he thought Hitchens would have supported Trump. It was a ridiculous accusation but I think I know where it came from. Christopher was a great essayist and newspaper columnist. British comment journalism loves writers who strike an unexpected stance. The roots of the contrarianism Hitchens championed lie in the commercial calculations of cynical newspaper editors that the best way to grab readers’ attention is by shocking them.

The result is it seems today that Hitchens has few heirs among leftwing journalists. His followers are among right-wing and increasingly far-right controversialists, whose fellow travelling with Trump will destroy them as surely as the fellow travelling with Stalin destroyed the leftists of the 20th century that Orwell and Hitchens opposed.

To contest this bleak memorial for an old friend and to mark the anniversary of Christopher’s death, I interviewed Christopher’s defender, Matt Johnson, the author of the marvellous How Hitchens Can Save the Left: Rediscovering Fearless Liberalism in an Age of Counter-Enlightenment

[pegaace]

Analysis on Witch from Mercury, Colonialism, The Tempest, and Caliba(r)n

Okay I know this is my first post ever but I was tryna find somewhere to put my thoughts after seeing a bunch of people everywhere slander Caliban and why that is not it and how my boi is innocent, good actually. For qualifications I did an undergrad lit class that covered The Tempest like 2 years ago so that's fine right (apologies to my profs if I fuck any of this up)

Okay so for starters yes by now everyone knows WfM is The Tempest, Prospera is Prospero (or Prospera actually, there was a 2010 film adaptation that had the gender switch already), Aerial is Ariel, etc etc. So therefore Caliban has to be this villainous, "monstrous" creature right?

Haha no sit down cos no that would be boring. (and also kinda racist as I'll explain) Notice how in the original Prospero isn't the villain of the story, not really, he's just getting revenge for being wronged years ago and trying to ship the kids together. But if recent gwitch is any indication, Prospera truly is the villain of this story, breaking hearts and stopping at nothing to destroy the Benerit group AND earth. Now I wonder which other adaptation of The Tempest has Prospero as the big bad HMMMM :thinking:

Enter Aime Cesaire and A Tempest. Written in 1969, it deals with a lot of the more unpleasant connotations of Shakespeares play. Let me lay it all out for you. So you're saying Prospero, a white dude, comes to this island, uses his western magic to overthrow the native witch (Sycorax), wrecks the land of its magic, and then enslaves her son to do his work for him, constantly insulting his appearance and intelligence? HMMMM seems pretty sus (racist and colonial) to me.

Cesaire, writing during a time of decolonial movements throughout the world, was rightfully really mad at colonizers for forcing their way upon natives with violence, and especially with the use of language to control said populations. Caliban has also been repeatedly dehumanised through previous adaptations of Shakespeares work slowly turning him from a man into a monster, not even human. This is similar to how non-european people have constantly been treated in the past.

Now like wait... Forcing communication through a set language? Dehumanisation? Colonisation of oppressed peoples? Where have we seen that before...? HMMMM

(its almost like... permet scores and gundam technology... Calibarn being free of permet links is like Caliban refusing language...)

And here's where I see the great potential of a Gundam Caliban. Gundam is certainly no stranger to decolonial movements (shoutout to my fave Gundam ZZ and the bois in Blue team and the African liberation front) and I think having Caliban as the Gundam to finally end Spacian oppression (perhaps in a sequel idk if Suletta is getting that far after bonking her mom by the end of the season) would be a great take.

As a side note, Aerial is kinda portrayed negatively in Cesaire's work for choosing to work for Prospero in exchange for their own freedom, as kind of a sellout who makes things worse and is ultimately tricked and trapped anyways and... hey! She's in a giant coffin now and Suletta is unhappier than ever! Oops.

Also like I qrted this on my twt but like its important to remember that Caliban is human too, and will respond to accordingly. They (and this might be where i disagree with @adracat a lil on their otherwise excellent posts) arent just a violent unthinking monster, thats just unfortunately how racism often portrays people of colour. If Suletta shows compassion and humanity towards Calibarn, like how she did to Aerial, and how Eri was able to connect with Lfrith in the prologue when Vanadis had failed, I'm sure she'll be able to bring Calibarn over to her side. And because they can connect so fully via human emotions and love (this is where I do agree with adra that love is the answer and key to open the door) (wooo yeah another love powered robot!! G Gundamming time) I dont think Quiet Zero will be able to stop them, as Suletta will have made the ultimate, unmediated connection between woman and machine, becoming one with it in the way Cardo Nabo had always truly hoped for. To don Gundam and live in space.

Okay sorry for the disorganised post but like one last thing I know I said it'd be nice for Calibarn to show up again in S2 but the other theory I have (which might or might not be true cos lets be real gwitch only rhymes, never copies, and i dont even know where schwarzette fits into all this [goatmom gundam my beloved i miss schwarzletta theory still]) is that the ending of A Tempest has Prospero send the girlies off as usual, but then still choose to stay on the island to fight with Caliban forever, till he can finally fully dominate him, cos racists are shit like that. This continues for a rlly long time cos his magics kinda prevent him from just dying of old age and he lives on, like a vampire sucking life from the island (wow capitalism huh) and its implied he and Caliban are just locked in this long struggle to the death until the day he finally croaks and the colonized can finally be free. Now what other gundam has an eternal struggle with fascism hmm?

idk just thought it might be cool for the gundam sisters to push suletta out of the way (maybe out of quiet zero?) whilst trapping prosperas grudge within it for all time, that would also be dramatic and neat lol. Come to think of it if Prospera does it itd be like ZZ again too lol with Haman pushing Judau away.

[skaruresonic]

In isolation, this looks like Eggman is saying "omg Grandpa would never."

In context... he's saying something different. "For Black Doom?" is really the sticking point for him, not "He betrayed his own people for research?" and I will prove why in this post.

---

First: Recall that, in SA2, Eggman read Gerald's diary. Because ShTH builds upon SA2, it's fair to assume that Eggman can only know Gerald's account of Project Shadow's development, and to assume that he considers it the authoritative account. It stands to reason that he only reason he could be shocked is if he considered Gerald's account the real one.

To wit, let us consider that Eggman has no reason to believe anyone created Shadow except Gerald.

Gerald wrote that he was able to complete the project based on his original projections.

Keep this in mind because it's important.

---

Second: Eggman rejects the idea that Gerald agreed to help Black Doom before he ever learns that Gerald agreed to give the Emeralds to BD.

Note how, after Shadow, Eggman is first to react. Note as well the strength of his reaction: his outburst is knee-jerk, his wording of "insane" bold considering Gerald's mental breakdown.

This moment suggests that something BD has said has struck a nerve within Eggman. However, because Black Doom has yet to disclose the nature of his pact with Gerald, "That's insane!" can only refer to the mere fact that Gerald decided to help Black Doom.

Why would BD's words evoke such a strong reaction if Eggman was objecting to the idea that Gerald betrayed his own people? BD didn't say Gerald had betrayed humanity at this point, nor was he implying it.

Instead, the implication behind Black Doom's words risks casting aspersion on Gerald's credibility as a scientist and Shadow's creator, which is really what Eggman is objecting to.

He is rejecting the idea that Gerald was not good enough as a scientist to finish Project Shadow on his own. The notion that Gerald took help from shady avenues and cut corners on his magnum opus conflicts his mental image of Gerald as, for lack of a better term, a Proper Robotnik(tm), a giant who stands on no one's shoulders.

For all he knew, Gerald was Shadow's sole creator. The idea that he might not have been would have shaken the foundation of everything Eggman held to be true about his grandfather.

---

Third: Eggman continues to reject the idea that Gerald agreed to "sell out" to Black Doom in order to complete Project Shadow because, according to his own account, Gerald completed Shadow on his own. Either BD or Gerald is lying, and Eggman is not inclined to believe Black Doom.

And here we come to the infamous line.

"He betrayed his own people for research?" means little in this context because there's no other line that tackles the subject or otherwise elaborates on it.

Because the meat of these cutscenes instead focuses on the shock value of Gerald striking a deal with the devil to complete his magnum opus, we can assume "For Black Doom?" means more to Eggman personally.

The issue isn't nearly so much the moral transgression; otherwise Eggman would have tut-tutted when Gerald revealed his plan to destroy the world in SA2 as well.

The issue is more personal than that. As in, are you telling me my grandfather, the greatest scientific mind of his time, is actually the kind of hack who sells out when the going gets tough? Just to finish his research?

Reading between the lines, you can probably imagine Eggman thinking, "My grandfather, a sellout? Have I clung to a lie all these years? What does that say about me?"

---

Fourth: Gerald apologizes to Shadow for contacting the Black Comet. Which would imply that that is the real transgression being addressed.

Furthermore, Gerald reveals that he created the Eclipse Cannon in order to use the power Black Doom seeks against him.

Eggman exclaims, "That's it! It's brilliant!"

His faith in his grandfather's brilliance seems to be renewed by this one line.

In addition to being a genuinely clever scheme on its own merits, Gerald's admission to what the Cannon was originally created for answers Eggman's unanswered questions in SA2 about the professor's intentions in creating a weapon able to destroy a planet.

Gerald's credibility is restored.

Which brings us to:

---

Five: Eggman's lines during the Devil Doom boss fight imply that he is reassuring himself that Shadow is the product of Gerald's work, thus preserving Gerald's credibility as a scientist and as a Proper Robotnik(tm).

The underlying question at the heart of the conflict is: who gave Shadow life? The hands that sculpted his mind and soul, or the one that granted him flesh? Who deserves the prestige of being considered the creator of the ultimate life form?

Both Gerald and Black Doom lay claim to Shadow, albeit in vastly different ways.

Gerald calls Shadow his "son," implying fatherhood and the nurturing, caring, and affection it represents.

To Gerald, Shadow was not just a cluster of flesh gestating in a test tube, something engineered to achieve a result, but a fully autonomous being in whom he places respect and trust.

Furthermore, a lyric from Chosen One suggests Shadow reciprocated the Professor's love:

You made me, and I loved you But I can't change the things that I've done

Black Doom, on the other hand, views Shadow as nothing more than something to be controlled. A pawn at best. An investment that needs to begin repaying its debts in order to justify its continued existence:

It is worth noting that despite being paralyzed by his Black Arms blood, it is Shadow's will - the act of choice, the marker of a truly sentient and autonomous soul - that overcomes the effects of Black Doom's mind control.

Knowing the full context that Gerald granted Shadow a soul in Battle makes Shadow's resistance a powerful moment indeed, for it not only builds upon lore established in previous games, but represents Shadow breaking the cycle of control.

In so doing, ShTH reinforces its theme of Shadow's agency, showing us just how far he's come. He is not just a weapon to be used and discarded, nor doomed by the circumstances of his birth to walk the path preordained for him. Shadow alone decides his fate.

Black Doom may have offered the raw genetic material, but Gerald breathed life into the entity and gave it a soul. Of the two feats, the latter is more amazing. That's why Devil Doom claims Gerald's accomplishment as his own:

And why Eggman claims Shadow truly is the ultimate life form his grandfather created:

Eggman is reassuring himself that Shadow really is the ultimate life form built by his grandfather's hands, and not just some abomination Gerald cooked up in a lab with the devil acting as sous chef.

For Eggman, it's not a question of whether Gerald was a good guy. It's a question of Robotnik(tm) pride.

As his contemplation of Gerald's motives in SA2 proves, Eggman has trouble grappling with the idea that his grandfather was only human, subject to the same faults and limitations as ordinary people. It doesn't gel with the idea that Granddad was the greatest scientific mind of his time. What do you mean he failed at his magnum opus?

This is why I think "For Black Doom?" hints at what the shock is really about for Eggman. The idea that Shadow may not be the product of his idol's hands alone disturbs him. He rejects the idea that Gerald would agree to work with Black Doom, much less sell out to create Shadow, calling it "insane."

And indeed, the fact that Gerald acknowledged his mistake and created a contingency gave Eggman relief, for he no longer seemed to question Gerald after that. It confirmed the most important thing he needed to know: that perhaps The Master Plan(tm) doesn't fall so very far from the genius tree after all.